


Favorite Disease

by The_Quartermasters



Category: One Piece
Genre: Bloodlust, Blow Jobs, Drugs, M/M, Murder, Not for the faint of heart, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self-Mutilation, asylum AU, disturbing subjects, love yourselves and dont get triggered, multi chapter fic, rape tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 07:10:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Quartermasters/pseuds/The_Quartermasters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written in 2003, hidden in the archives for a very long time. A dark fic which takes place in a forensic mental hospital AU where disturbed murderers Zoro and Sanji cross paths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story started unassumingly enough but ended up turning into a very long epic. We'd toyed with the idea of placing One Piece chars in a mental hospital environment and did some art revolving around the subject and eventually ended up playing this and just kept building and building upon it. Be warned before you start reading this fic that it touches upon some disturbing subjects, like murder and blood-lust and self-mutilation and rape. It's not a happy fic and it's not for the faint of heart.
> 
> Tags and rating to be changed as chapters are added

There was a window seat in the common room which had a claim laid to it. It was a silent claim made not by the claim holder but rather by the wary eyes that flickered to him when he sat there in the afternoon. His dark eyes never moved to meet those glances, never shot any menacing look or narrowed at an approacher. He never had to since his demeanor and his reputation kept any threat more or less at bay. Roronoa Zoro was one of the youngest patients at the hospital. Now twenty, he'd committed his first convicted murder at the age of nineteen, a well-publicized brutal death for which he'd never shown any remorse. His name had preceded him on his arrival to the hospital, newspapers recording the famed kendo star's 'mad obsession with power' and 'delusions of ultimate status'. And while the hospital was a forensics ward, it hardly had the maddest of the mad and so Zoro was left to his window seat where he could generally be found in the mid-morning, quietly looking outside with those dark eyes and the equally dark aura to him that ensured his solitude.  
  
There was perhaps only one person who either didn't see the glances or catch the aura or simply didn't care. Sanji didn't lay much value to self-preservation. He knew no one would touch him here anyway, no one except whomever he wanted. So it was on a day that mirrored the dark expression on the famed kendo-fighter's brow that Sanji slipped from the table where card games had grown dull and padded silently over to Zoro's window-seat. Draping himself across the pad at the other end of the window, Sanji leaned, pressing his cheek against the grating that crisscrossed over the shatterproof glass and let a lazy eye drift over Zoro's profile. "Strong, silent type, na?" the words slipped smooth and quiet from thin lips.   
  
Zoro's eyes slowly moved from the window to the thin frame of the boy opposite to him. Blond hair falling in his eyes, pale skin. He knew about this kid -- while he kept to himself, he also kept tabs on his fellow patients and managed to keep up with gossip with keen ears. Though the young man was probably the only patient in the hospital his age -- in fact, only a few months older than himself -- he had no interest in forming some sort of correspondence with the feeble-looking man. So he turned his gaze back out the window, his expression never so much as shifting. A mutter, Zoro's voice was deep, low. "And you, the annoying, nosy type."  
  
Surprisingly, the boy's smirk grew to a toothy grin that cut across his face from cheek to cheek. "He does talk! I knew it." Then leaning away from the window he raised an arm to get the attention of another across the way. "Yo, Morgan, love! You owe me a pack of ciggies, dear!" He spoke in a mocking sing song voice which was met with a low grunt from a corner of the room out of Zoro's line of sight. Then the thin boy turned back to the large, not-quite silent other and drew up his knees, propping his bony chin on the backs of his hands and staring, without a word, at him. The common room was common property and it was just about time this guy started learning to share.   
  
The calls warranted a very slightly lifted eyebrow from the stoic young man but little more. He wasn't sure he appreciated bets being made on him but it hardly mattered enough to elicit anything more than a vague sense of annoyance. Quite sure the obnoxious stick-figure would bore of him, he remained silent for a long while with an increasing sense of annoyance when the blond remained seated across from him, clear blue gaze fixed on him. This eventually drew Zoro's eyes from the window, a tiny scowl threatening to tug at his mouth. "You proved your point."  
  
Sanji didn't move, but he blinked. "My point? I'm not trying to make a point. I'm just looking." And he fell silent again. He was interested in this guy. He hadn't paid much attention to him before, but recently... somehow his attention was being pulled toward the scowling shadow that always sat in the corner. Besides, he was curious if Zoro was the sort of person that might know about... All Blue. Or maybe he was the sort that could be trusted with what Sanji already knew. He licked his lips faintly, momentarily distracted by thoughts of his ocean. The salt he could, some days, even taste on his tongue. But he was still feeling Zoro out. He always had to be sure. Still, even if he didn't prove to measure up, Sanji had to admit he wouldn't mind wheedling a cig or two out of the man for... certain other favors.  
  
Zoro's hackles started to rise. Never had he ever particularly considered this to be *his* windowsill -- not even when fellow patients moved from it in his wake -- simply because no one ever bothered him. He never had to defend his solitude. But this guy and his wandering eyes annoyed him in a way that nothing had annoyed him since he'd arrived in the hospital. It stirred in him a heat, a churning that he hadn't felt since the last time he'd had blood on his hands and his eyes narrowed at the blond. He wanted to get those eyes off of him but knew he couldn't move, he'd be relinquishing this newly-realized claim to his spot and he certainly wouldn't do that to some scrawny, loud-mouthed son of a bitch. His eyes bore into Sanji's, that long untouched sense making them burn. "I know about you," he growled, almost spat. "And just so you know -- I don't smoke."  
  
Sanji leaned back, breaking the gaze and again turning his eyes to the outside, one leg remaining tucked up to his chest while the other dangled off the seat. He clicked his tongue nearly inaudibly and pretended not to notice when a gruff voice called to him. "Guess I'll be taking that pack back then, eh, Butterfly?" Only a faint twitch of his curled brow gave any indication he'd even heard the other man. Whatever. He was patient. Sex wasn't his top priority anyway. He was infinitely patient.  
  
Zoro relaxed just the slightest -- a small battle won. His eyes remained narrowed though at the invader of his space, the only one who had dared to do such a thing in this sterile prison. Either very brave or remarkably stupid. From the looks of it, the latter. "Are you looking for a fight?" There was, certainly, no hope in his voice. He hadn't known the charge of physical struggle for months -- not here where they poked him full of drugs at the drop of a hat, not since he'd earned the title of the strongest had he felt that electricity.  
  
Sanji pried his gaze away from the stupid bird feeder that leaned slightly askew out on the lawn that the patients never actually got to walk on, --They should put in a pond. Or a fountain at least-- and found Zoro's narrowed eyes again. He sighed only very shallowly. Once you got this guy started talking, he was remarkably difficult to shut up again. "Not particularly." He looked Zoro up and down once. Despite months of near inactivity, he knew the once-prize-fighter was still of a formidable strength and taking him hand to hand would be foolish. He pulled his other leg back up on the seat, bare toes kneading at the worn fabric. "Are you that desperate that you'd fight me? Here?" A low chuckle. "I couldn't be that much of a challenge for you." Yet there was a strange sparkle in his eye as though even suave, calm Sanji craved a little color in this place of ceaseless grays.  
  
The anger, the blaze in Zoro's eyes diminished until it was again replaced with simple disdain. "No. You couldn't be," he agreed. The burn in his stomach receded, his hooded eyes turned back out the window. This Sanji was an annoyance. A cocky bastard. But not an opponent. And he wasn't that desperate -- he refused to be. So deciding this Sanji posed no challenge, he couldn't take the space from him but only occupy it with his annoying presence, Zoro proceeded to ignore him.  


* * *

  
The silent standstill lasted until lunch was called and the patients filed into the cafeteria. Sanji threw his customary, civilized fit over the quality of the food, claimed a bowl of mixed fruit in light syrup and a buttered bagel --Hard to mess up that. Though they make a valiant effort.-- and deposited himself and his meal at the conveniently empty space next to Zoro. The man might not have found Sanji worthy of fighting, but the blond had already set himself a challenge and he was never one to give up on anything once his mind was fixed on a course. So he nibbled at his fruit disdainfully and cast sideways glances at the man slouched over his plate. "Are you... actually going to *eat* that?" he asked, horrified. There was a spattering of snickers across the table which he ignored.  
  
Zoro jerked slightly at the sound of the voice beside him, glancing at the blond. He hadn't expected the man to actually follow him and continue this farce. He looked from Sanji to his fruit and curled his lip. So he was nuts, a slut *and* anorexic. What a piece of work. "Unfortunately, not everyone can be built like a pack of matchsticks," he muttered in reply and quite pointedly took a hearty bite of the meat concoction served that day, hunched over his tray and wondering when this guy would tire of him.  
  
A voice from across the table snorted and spoke, "Oh he'll eat. On the days they serve the fish."   
  
Sanji's eyes flew wide and he turned from Zoro to a man with glasses and greasy black hair, anger flushing his cheeks. "Shut UP about the fish! What do you know, anyway!" Then he turned hurriedly away as if embaressed by his own display and stuffed a large piece of bread into his mouth, chewing pointedly and staring down at his plate, ignoring the titterings around him.  
  
Zoro only quirked his brow slightly at the blond, amused neither with his weird behavior or the heckling provided by the peanut gallery of their fellow patients. One annoyed glance quieted the table. He finished his meal in silence and escaped Sanji to disappear into the halls and slip into his room. He found himself frustrated at how unnerved the man made him -- he was unused to being bothered. He found he disliked the attention. He found he disliked how he'd roused that flicker inside of him. And he wondered if he'd show up again tomorrow if he went to the window seat.  


* * *

  
Sanji dreamt of his ocean. The same dream he always had. Of total submersion in blue. Of the tickling of fish scales at his ankles. And like always, he woke, wet, sweating, in the same bed to the same snores and grunts and moans from the neighboring rooms and beds. He spent the morning sitting quietly in the window seat. He didn't eat breakfast. He began to get annoyed at the absence of Zoro, despite his continued invasion of the seat, when a nurse passing by snapped him from his reverie to remind him that most of his fellows were outside enjoying their 'activity time' and wouldn't it be nice to get some fresh air. So scowling only slightly, Sanji slipped after the nurse and let himself be led outside. He looked for Zoro.   
  
The so-called and condescendingly titled 'activity time' was an appreciated moment of sunlight for Zoro who presently was doing one-handed push-ups on the lawn. With no weights to lift in this wretched place his physique had suffered but he did manage to keep himself from wasting away by spending a great deal of time doing what he could with his body. Sit-ups, push-ups, calisthenics. Never quite enough but something to pass the time and prevent the prospect of atrophy. Sweat beaded on the young man's face and bare back where his unused hand was folded over the elaborate tattoo of not-quite-twin koi that swept over his muscled back.   
  
Sanji's eyes finally caught sight of the other boy in the yard and he approached casually, trying not to look as though he'd been headed directly for Zoro. He found a bench nearby and curled his toes around the half-alive sprigs of crab grass that were trying their best to grow up through the turf of the activity yard. Sanji tried to make out what pattern the ink on Zoro's back traced as he watched the man work out, watched the sweat roll from his limbs to drip into the dust. It really was too bad this guy didn't smoke.   
  
With a glance about as he continued to lift and lower himself to the ground, Zoro's narrowed eyes shut, his brow tense as he focused on the burn in his muscles. So similar to the burn, to that burn... Ever squelched with drugs, that burn in his stomach, in his chest. That burn that he sometimes wondered if he'd extinguished himself -- for one glorious moment it had been so strong, so incredibly strong and then it was gone. The victory was nothing at all compared to the battle, the win itself meant so much less than that heat coursing through him, so much less than his blood and sweat and that man's blood and sweat and the perfect calm and raging power it all added up to. And this tiny flicker, this miniscule ache, it was a tease, mocking him. Mocking him no more than that blond -- even that man had elicited more than this ache. He pressed on. 1070. 1071. 1072.  
  
Sanji squinted, trying to get a better look at the rippling textures that shined with sweat, the sun reflecting in such a way as to obscure his view and without hardly realizing it himself, he'd stepped from the bench and made he way across the few yards of dirt to squat a foot or two from Zoro's side. He knew the man sensed him there, he noticed in the slight shift of rhythm and the way Zoro's brow grew even more furrowed. But now he was catching some of the details of the art and his throat grew thick. With no other warning than, "Let me see," Sanji had, without thinking, reached out and taken Zoro's wrist as though to push it away. He needed to see the tattoo. Something twisting, curling in his stomach told him he needed to see it.   
  
Eyes flickered open; Zoro moved like a demon. His arm snapped around, his large hand closing over Sanji's thin wrist, whirling on him, slamming him into the packed dirt. His eyes were wild with something -- anger or hate or madness or desperation -- and Sanji was so light, so thin and he was crushing him, holding him to the ground and his wrist so small in his grip he could so easily crush it in his strong grip -- his fingers were tightening -- or perhaps snap it -- just one quick movement -- so easily and the orderlies were on him, yanking at him with their government-funded strength, yelling at him. So easily, too easily; a growl from deep in his throat, his eyes locked with Sanji's, tearing through him, so hungry and wanting and furious. And then all this faltered with a deep sunken needle and Zoro's vision blurred, his overworked muscles quivered, his fingers trembled at Sanji's wrist and he struggled to keep his gaze fixed on those amber... no, blue... His fingers slid from Sanji's bruised and purpling wrist as the orderlies pulled the half-conscious man to his feet. His drugged gaze remained on Sanji even as he fought the drug coursing through him, tugging feebly at the arms that held him up, tossing his head. Nurses were at Sanji's side as Zoro was dragged away.  
  
Sanji only caught a brief glance at the curling blacks and blues and reds that stained Zoro's flesh, but it was enough to see. To see the scales and the waves and his ocean and a sound like the crashing of waves filled his ears and he was drowning against the dry earth, a blackness creeping at the edges of his vision but all he could see were those koi swimming in a sea of ink and a pair of eyes, so rich a brown as to seem nearly red, angry, mad eyes that pushed him under, trapped him there and he lay like that, staring straight ahead, not even struggling, not even aware of the commotion going on above him. It wasn't until he awoke, how much later he couldn't be sure, that he noticed the injury to his wrist and he lay between grey sheets, staring at the ceiling and realizing that for the first time in as long as he could remember, he hadn't dreamt only of his ocean.  


* * *

  
It was days before Zoro reappeared from solitary one morning, heavily drugged and perched again on the window seat in the common room. There were bandages on his arms from having a run-in with a cart in the hallway when he managed to break through the medication as he was being dragged to his padded prison and a bruise on his face from the second tousle. But now he showed no sign of the violence that had overtaken him, staring calmly out the window.  
  
The nurses had released Sanji from recovery the day before and he'd been unusually quiet, preferring to spend most of his time in his own room rather than socialize. But he'd heard from an orderly that Zoro was being let out of solitary this day and so Sanji'd appeared silently in the doorway of the common room, staring at the silhouette in the far window for a moment before crossing the cold floor, with no word or greeting for any there, so focused was he on his purpose. And when he'd reached the window, he didn't pause, but climbed onto the opposite end of the seat, wary of his bandaged wrist and drew his knees up to his chest. He didn't look at Zoro, but rather at one of the birds outside, a scraggly brown robin, hopping among the seeds, pecking stupidly.   
  
Looking at Sanji from the corner of his eye, Zoro's sedated state was quite obvious. No quirk of brow, no twitch of mouth. Just a rolling gaze and a rumbling voice. "You're very persistent." Oh but he hated that feeling -- so heavy, so clouded, senses so dulled. Not dulled enough though to let the wary gaze of the orderlies escape him as Sanji approached.   
  
Sanji was nursing a bit of a headache due to the pain meds he'd held under his tongue instead of swallowing and his wrist too throbbed mercilessly. But better feel the pain than nothing at all. Than to be as drugged up as the sap at the other end of his seat. To Zoro's observation Sanji merely shrugged. But he couldn't give up now and leave the guy to his own broodings. Not when Sanji knew now what he had on his back. And in his eyes. Sanji risked scooting closer, one corner of his eye on the orderlies, taking his chances that the drugs had dulled Zoro's reflexes enough to let him get near. Near enough to whisper, "I have to ask you something."  
  
The only response Zoro gave was a slightly narrowed eye, a hint of suspicion. This guy... such a pain. What could he want now? He eyed Sanji askance. "What is it?"  
  
Sanji glanced around again and leaned in closer. "Have you heard of... All Blue?" The last two words were spoken even quieter as though he shared a great secret, though most everyone here knew Sanji's story already.   
  
"All... what?" Zoro asked, puzzled. This guy got stranger and stranger. But he supposed, if nothing else, that voice served to interrupt the fuzzy emptiness that currently had hold of him. "Never heard of it."  
  
Sanji sighed. He hadn't really expected Zoro to know... but still, that tattoo.... "It's an ocean," he found himself explaining, still in hushed tones. "No... it's all oceans at once. My ocean." He eyes suddenly began aching to see the ink. It was the nearest they'd come to All Blue for so long... he reached out a tentative finger, his bound wrist trembled as he indicated Zoro's shoulder. "Your back. Your koi. It's like that." He shivered slightly. "Everyone thinks I'm lying, but you've got a picture of it etched into your flesh. Your skin knows I'm right. It's real."   
  
For all his closeness, Zoro listened to the man's story very calmly, watching that reaching hand with lidded eyes. So that's what it had been all about. Sanji's ocean on his back, huh? It was all very interesting... and terribly dull at the same time. Zoro was tired. "My koi, huh?" he asked lazily and leaned back against the wall. "I thought my koi were from a cheap tattoo artist, not some mystery ocean."  
  
Sanji shook his head slowly. "Not cheap. Someone knew... and they recorded it beautifully..." His hand hovered a moment more then he let it fall back to his lap. He supposed he didn't have the right to touch the ink. Even if it was his ocean. He sighed quietly and sank down on the seat, laying so that his head rested only a few inches from Zoro's knee. He closed his eyes, but opened them again almost at once. Instead of calm waters to console him, Zoro's burning eyes glared at Sanji from the insides of his eyelids. "You have frightening eyes," he murmured sleepily, sounding neither frightened nor concerned. Still his own eyes stayed open now.   
  
"And you have wrists like toothpicks," Zoro replied, nonplussed and peering down at Sanji. "You should eat more." His eyes now didn't burn so much though, instead dulled, his tanned skin drained.  
  
Sanji sat up then leaning closer than he had before til his lips were nearly touching Zoro's ear and whispered very very quietly. "Hold the pills under your tongue." Then he winked and drew away to glance distracted at an imaginary speck of dust under a fingernail. The orderlies would by now just figure he was being his usual seductive self and never suspect him of passing information on to the other boy.   


* * *

  
As the days passed and the injected medicine worked its way out of Zoro's body, he took Sanji's advice and tried this little trick. Within a week his thoughts had found themselves clearing, his eyes sharpened again and those clear thoughts led him to curiosity. One morning he waited at the window for Sanji's eminent arrival, eased in the corner with more relaxation than he normally showed but without the drugged limpness it had accompanied earlier that week. Eyeing the frail man as he approached, he asked as soon as he seated himself, "Was it worth nearly having your wrist broken to see my koi?"  
  
Sanji thought about this. "I don't remember you hurting my wrist." He shrugged as if this answered Zoro's question. Still... "Can I see them again?" he asked, eyes wide, wanting.  
  
"Maybe," Zoro replied warily. He looked at Sanji for a long moment -- Sanji who was everything he wasn't, thin and pale with his clear eyes... not unhaunted, perhaps not so entirely unlike his own. Perhaps remembering, wanting something they couldn't have again. Perhaps not so entirely unlike his own -- but much nicer, really. "Tell me about your ocean."  
  
A genuine smile touched Sanji's lips as he began to recount the stories of his childhood, of an ocean where all oceans meet, where every fish and sea creature can live and humans too, though few ever find it. The most beautiful and rare place on earth, dangerous and rich and full and mysterious and a thing Sanji believed to be a sort of birth right. As he spoke, a glint shone in his eye and he leaned in, gesturing with his hands expressively. "I've been looking for clues, bit and pieces, hints that will tell me where it is, how to find it again. I must have had it once. I can almost taste it some days."   
  
The other patients were used to this by now. A number of them had overheard this speech before and were listening again, snickering amongst themselves. The greasy-haired man stood and faced Sanji, jeering. "Tell us again, Great Chef, what will you cook for us once you find your NeverNeverLand?" The man's voice dripped sarcasm, his characteristic nervous twitch crunching his face in a sneer. "A mermaid souffle?"   
  
Sanji felt the color drain from his face and a sick twisting took hold of his stomach at the words.  
  
Zoro's eyes narrowed, turning his gaze to meet the eyes behind the spectacles. The look alone got his attention but Zoro added gruffly, "Ussei." He stared the other patient down, knowing full well Kuro's own story. "Better a dreamer than a two-bit excuse for a *failed* swindler." Curling his lip at Zoro, Kuro adjusted his glasses in that compulsive way of his, huffed and returned to the table he'd been at. Zoro sneered at the back of his head. He'd never liked that guy. Presently, Zoro leaned back, turning his gaze back to Sanji.  
  
Sanji clutched at the collar of his tunic and tried to slow his breathing. It took a moment for it to register that Zoro had just defended him. He found the other boy looking at him then and he stared back blankly, silently before a sudden flush blossomed annoyingly across his pale cheeks and he looked away hurriedly. He didn't need anyone to stand up for him. But it did leave an impression that Zoro hadn't laughed at him or denied All Blue. This meant something.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word Count: 3,217  
> Dated: November 2003

When Zoro worked out in the yard now, he wore a tank top, unsure how he felt about Sanji's interest in his tattoo. He knew perfectly well, of course, that this All Blue he talked about was a delusion... but in spite of himself, it made him feel as though he had something in common with the gangly blonde. Which in itself was mildly unnerving. He even found he didn't mind so much anymore when Sanji showed up to claim 'his' end of the window seat.   
  
One afternoon found Sanji sitting on the bench in the yard, watching Zoro do sit-ups and sucking on a cigarette as though oxygen were poisonous. He hadn't asked about the tank top, figuring it was probably better if others didn't see this new clue, this new  
mark on the treasure map he was piecing together in his head, just in case they were to get a step ahead of him. He had lost count of the number of crunches the larger man had done when he slipped a cigarette from the pocket on the front of his shirt and held it out in offering. "Want one? Not as though you've got anything to worry about stuck in here, ne?" He smiled crookedly, but jovially as he dangled the white cylinder between two fingers.  
  
Zoro paused in his work out, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead before draping his arms over his knees, looking at the cigarette in Sanji's thin fingers. Before, his instant response would be no, he didn't smoke. His body had always been top priority; smoking was out of the question. He might inject ink into his skin, shove metal through his ears but endanger his health? Never. Not when achieving that perfect feeling depended entirely on his body, when it depended entirely on being the best. But now, here, he'd faded. In this place there was no chance of achieving that again, when not only had his strength and skill diminished with lack of toning and practice but there was simply no one to provide the opportunity. There was no one to provide a challenge anymore. Silently, Zoro took the cigarette from Sanji's fingers and allowed the other to light it for him -- he coughed, but with dignity. He exhaled, leaned back against the bench Sanji was sitting on, eyes fixed on some unimaginable point and said tonelessly, "Tastes like shit."  
  
Sanji grinned and took a drag of his own. "You get used to it." He shrugged and bent forward, elbows on knees. "Hand-rolled are best, but in here you take what you can get."  
  
"Hand rolled huh?" Zoro repeated, a quiet mutter. He rolled the cigarette between his fingers, peering at it for a long moment before taking another drag. Sweat dripped down his back and the tank top clung to his sticky flesh -- he really hated wearing a shirt during a work out. A long moment of the not-quite comfortable silence they seemed to have cultivated these days passed before Zoro spoke up again. "How long you been here, anyway?"  
  
Sanji shrugged. "I dunno. Longer than you. Used to be in a juvee center but they chucked me over here cause then I grew all up and became a bad influence on the little ones." A deep chuckle and he bit at his cigarette again. A rueful, dark sort of amusement appeared in Zoro's eyes, he shot a narrowed, teasing glance at the other boy. "Bet it's easier to get cigarettes around here."  
  
Sanji snickered. "Actually you'd be surprised. Little brats were really quite resourceful. Knew exactly what to do to pull favors and get what they wanted. It helps when you've got gullible, lonely orderlies. Not that we're short those here by any means.   
Heh."  
  
"Talk about knowing how to 'work the system'," Zoro remarked dryly and then with a sneer added, "You smoke all the damn time. Must be busy."  
  
Sanji returned the look with a toss of blond. "Only when I want to be." He ran his tongue over his bottom lip letting it push slightly at the corner of his mouth.  
  
Zoro eyed him briefly before stubbing out the cigarette and standing. He tossed the remainder of the half-used smoke back to Sanji. And with a muttered, "Thanks." he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to make his way back to the building for a shower... and a drink. Those things really did taste like shit.  
  
It wasn't more than a couple of minutes before Sanji was following, having been shooed inside by the orderlies as their opportunity for fresh air ended for the day. In the open shower room, Sanji stripped and folded his clothes, placing them neatly into one of the cubby holes. He shivered slightly as his bare feet hit tile and made his way to a shower head which jutted from the wall diagonal to where Zoro was already washing. The warm water (they never let it get really hot) soothed his flesh and he leaned into the spray letting it soak his hair and run rivulets down his neck and back and over the curve of his ass and down the inside of his thighs. He shivered again. Damn, but he could really use a few more cigarettes right about now. And he cursed silently as the first place his gaze fell was on the tattooed fighter mere yards away.  
  
The ex-star's back was turned to Sanji, he hadn't even noticed the other man's entrance, face to the wall, eyes closed, head bowed and hands curled around the shower head. He let the water drip from his brow and his nose and his chin, down his shoulders and back. And he ached. Since he had taken Sanji's advice he had ached -- as though it were as simple as aspirin to a headache. He ached for hot water. He ached for the feeling of hot water on truly exhausted muscles, for the burn in his limbs and the exhaustion in his chest. He ached for adrenaline -- it seemed sugar-water must run through his veins now it had been so long since he'd felt that rush. Except for that time... Sanji's wrist had healed and they hadn't spoken of the incident since the day Zoro had asked if it was worth it.   
  
Was it worth it...? Was it worth solitary for that one briefest tiniest of milliseconds of time where he felt an inkling, just the smallest inkling of what it was like to be really alive? Perhaps. It wasn't worth though, the tearing ache now, knowing and feeling and living so far from *real* knowing and feeling and living. Everything felt so terribly out of reach. And he knew that soon if he stayed like this, he'd be taken from the pathetically warm water trickling over him. So he moved, opened his eyes, turned and was surprised to meet Sanji's gaze across the room. With a horrible, inexplicable rush of self-consciousness, he felt his face flush and hurried to reach for a towel and leave the shower room.  
  
Sanji sighed quietly and turned back to the feeble spray of water, refusing to let his eyes follow that tattooed back from the room. He stood under the stream for a few more minutes, moving little before finally reaching out to shut the shower off. He didn't bother drying himself off completely, but just wrapped the towel around his hips and gathered his bundle of clothes. He looked up at the clock and scowled. It would be dinner soon. Eating was the last thing he felt like doing. On the way back to his room, he caught eyes with one of the younger orderlies and grinned very subtly before continuing to his room, looking back over his shoulder only once to make sure the boy had received his message. They could be so dim sometimes.  
  
Perched on the window seat in the common room hair still damp from his shower, Zoro watched Sanji pass through the hallway and toss a glance the orderly's way. And sure enough, several minutes later, the young man cast around a nervous glance and slipped out of the room. Che. Predictable. Zoro turned his gaze back out the window.  
  
  
  
In his room, conveniently the only current permanent occupant, Sanji was on his knees, eyes open as he watched the face of the orderly who squirmed above him as he sucked the boy off. They were pressed up against the wall in the corner of the room out of sight of the tiny window that peered into his room, but it was still smart to be quick. And so Sanji expertly ran his hands up the boy's thighs and across his back and squeezed ever so slightly at the curve of his ass as his hands slipped back down. The orderly jumped a little at this touch but Sanji waited until he was swallowing his cum to nip the small key ring from the boy's pocket. He was writhing and biting his lip so hard that Sanji could probably have taken the keys from the boy's own hand without him noticing. Still, there was a certain amount of pride in his work and he smirked as three cigarettes tumbled from the boy's fingers and he watched him hitch up his pants and stumble red-faced from the room. No, he'd never even notice the keys were gone til Sanji had had his fun with them.  
  


* * *

  
That night, in his private room (Zoro was the type of patient that warranted one) Zoro was peacefully dozing and paid little attention when the click of the door opening roused him into semi-consciousness. Rounds were once an hour on the half hour; one grew accustomed to the invasion of privacy twenty-four times a day. However the soft shift of clothes and bare feet on the cold tile was caught by Zoro's inherent warrior-like senses and he tensed, waited, perfectly still. Right up until he felt a hand hovering near his shoulder and with incredible speed he whirled on his attacker, hands going for the throat and shoulder, and flipped him over his own body down on the bed, hand tightly closed around his throat.  
  
Sanji looked up into those fired eyes and a thrill shot through his spine as the fingers pressed into his throat. He grinned broadly and the thought crossed his mind that if he'd known this was all it took to get into Zoro's bed he would have sneaked in long ago. He murmured softly as much out of caution as from the pressure at his throat. "Feel like an adventure? I happen to know that the orderlies keep an interesting little stash of booze in their cabinet in their break room. And I..." he held up a clenched fist. "have a key."  
  
Though at the moment, Zoro had half a mind to tighten his grip till his thumb and fingers met, the mention of alcohol caught his attention and eyeing Sanji suspiciously, he eased his hand away. It clearly wasn't the first time Sanji'd done this; he followed the blond through the darkened hallways, creeping as silently as possible. Waiting while he peered around corners until signalling that it was clear. It wasn't until he was sitting on the floor in an empty rec room, a hefty bottle of gin sloshing in his hand, that Zoro spoke. He peered at Sanji, leaning back against the cold wall.   
  
"Resourceful little fuck, aren't you?" It wasn't exactly a compliment, just an observation tinted perhaps with a bit of... surprise? Mild admiration? A dim, sickly yellow light very vaguely tinted the room, provided by a street lamp some distance away and it shone just slightly on the bottle as Zoro knocked back the first swallow of liquor he'd experienced in nearly a year. A hiss, a lick of his lips at the burn and the ex-bushido couldn't hide the show of teeth resembling something like a grin at the burn of the liquid. Shit but he missed that.   
  
Sanji caught the near-smile and laughed quietly, between sips of cheap coconut rum. "Just take a few swallows of each bottle you want and they won't notice it missing." He sat cross-legged on the floor some feet away from Zoro, lounging back against a stark hospital-green couch. Truthfully, the midnight boozing wasn't something he did often. He wasn't stupid, as long as he was cautious and didn't get caught, there was always the chance of a next time, and the opportunity to slosh something besides apple juice down his throat. He took another swallow before commenting. "Your reflexes have gotten better. Still tonguing the pills, eh?"  
  
Eyeing the bottle in his hand with a feeling of slight dissapointment, Zoro grunted in assent. Of course Sanji was right but he could easily finish off the bottle and move on to the next. He briefly wondered if it'd be worth getting caught for the chance to get completely smashed just once but then decided just as quickly that it wasn't. Still -- the soft burn of the cheap liquor was refreshing. "Nn," Zoro replied to the question, his eyes focused on a dark corner. He mumbled vaguely, "I can feel it more when I work out now."  
  
Sanji hid a small quirky smile behind the dim gleam of the rum bottle's neck and stroked long pale fingers across the smooth glass. "You been doing that more too. Working out. Nice to feel the energy come back... even just a little." He looked up at the ceiling. "Me... maybe it's just a little better *knowing* I'm stuck here, than being trapped, lethargic, complacent, in the back of my head all the time." He shrugged. "Who knows what they've got you on, but that's what it does to me if I take them." He discarded the rum then, for a smaller bottle with the label half-ripped off, something vaguely smelling of melon.  
  
Zoro chose to ignore the observation. But Sanji was right -- his energy had returned. Along with that feeling -- the feeling of strength and the desire for more, the inklings of just what it was that got him stuck in this place to begin with. The craving for it had been reborn. "Things are... sharper. I can feel what I want to," Zoro remarked on the subject, reaching for some wretched peach-flavored vodka with a sneer. "The orderlies drink like women."  
  
Sanji snickered quietly. "You certainly take what you can get in here." But he reached around in the back of the cupboard, rummaging until he pulled out another bottle, a bit larger than the rest and without a trace of fruit flavoring. Sanji gave Zoro a smirk and the bottle. "Try this." He watched Zoro take the liquor and after another moment, asked, "What *do* you want to feel, anyway?" He took a small swallow of the peach vodka.  
  
Zoro considered this for a long moment after taking a braver swallow from the larger bottle. It seared his lips and throat deliciously, undaintily unlike the fruity shit. It wasn't that he was disinclined to talk about it -- at least no more disinclined than he was to speak at all -- it was just that no one really tried to ask since the trial save for that damned doctor and all her bedside manner and thereputic skill of an angry barmaid. And her annoying quips about remaining based in reality grew weary so he stopped mentioning it all together. This was considered 'progress'.  
  
"Perfection," Zoro finally said, eyes contemplating the swish and swirl within the bottle as he moved it slowly in his hand. "There's a place..." So hard to put it into words. How can words possibly reign that experience? "Inside. And if it's reached, everything is... better. Clearer and sharper and slower. You can see everything." Zoro's eyes turned on his free hand, opening and closing his fingers slowly. Would his katana feel the same next time he held her? He shuddered to think where the sword might be now -- auctioned off somewhere? Thrown into storage? Wherever it was, he'd find it. The shine of its blade was still in his eyes, following its invisible edge.  
  
Sanji eyes shone and he leaned forward, on his knees. His lips moved almost imperceptibly, forming around two near-silent words. "All Blue." He tried to find Zoro's eyes in the shadow of his face. But he couldn't see anything and his head sagged. "That's... that's how it is. But I can't..." he grit his teeth then, facial muscles tensing, "I can't find it. Can't reach it..." the words came mumbled, quiet, so quiet, into the thin carpet.   
  
The words were only half-heard, Zoro's attention still on the white katana he turned over in his hand. Finally he let his hand fall, let the invisible sword clatter to the floor. "Yeah. I had it -- for just a moment, I had it. The most perfect, everything so clear, the most powerful. So alive I could feel that man's very life in his blood." He turned his eyes on Sanji, his tight, tortured features. Zoro's own face so calm, so relaxed in his confidence. "It's real."  
  
Sanji quivered, something inside him crumbling at those words. And without explanation, lurched to his feet and stumbled from the room before Zoro could see the tears streaming down his cheeks, leaving Zoro alone with an assortment of bottles and the forgotten keys. Moments later, he threw himself down on his bed, breathing shallowly and erratically into the mattress, unable to get Zoro's sharp, clear eyes out of his vision or those last words out of his hearing. -- itsrealitsrealitsreal...it's real...-- And when the overnight orderly came quietly into his room on the next half-hour, he found Sanji curled on his side, half-tangled in the sheets, no evidence that he hadn't been there all night. Sanji let the man fuck him quietly in the dark, dry-eyed and staring at the opposite wall.  
  


* * *

  
Sanji's rush from the room jostled Zoro a bit from his reverie, enough at least for his gaze to follow the other man as he stumbled out. He almost raised his voice to stop him but failed to, instead watching the door slam quietly shut. He took a moment to contemplate this over another deep swallow of the harsh liquor. Sanji was definitely one strange character -- but getting him booze definitely earned the blond points. It didn't hit him though until just then Sanji's genuine interest in what he wanted, in the perfection he searched for. How unafraid he always had been of Zoro. He wondered for a moment if he'd run out just then because he suddenly decided Zoro *was* fearsome but came to the conclusion that the concept of perfect existence was simply too much for most people to grasp. After a long while and perhaps too much of the orderlies' liquor, Zoro shoved the stuff back in the cabinet and barely made it back to his room in time for the hourly check. He slid the key into a crack between the boards in his bed frame and feigned sleep when his door creaked.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning found Sanji morose and quiet and sore. The orderly on duty last night had been none too careful and Sanji had been far too out of it to notice or care at the time. Now though, he ached and felt vaguely sick to his stomach and so when the time came between dawn and breakfast that Sanji usually spent out in the common room, instead he stayed in his bed, sheets twisted about his legs and contemplated the pale skin of his palms. The memory of his ocean pushed particularly strongly under his skin today and he considered stealing something from an orderly to cut himself with, just to relieve the pressure. But that seemed like it would take an awful lot of effort and energy.

Zoro thought little of the other's disappearance -- he woke with the taste of alcohol lingering on his tongue and a desire for the ache in his muscles. Just talking about it the night before had made him anxious, yearning for something better than booze (as good as it was) to make him feel alive. He worked out harder than he had in a long time in the yard, through the entire period they were allowed. It wasn't until he was showering away the sheen of sweat that he stopped to think about Sanji's absence and wonder at it. And feeling a bit curious, he wandered back to the ward. He'd never actually been in Sanji's room but he'd seen where it was and he approached the door to peer in the tiny window. He tapped lightly at the glass.

Sanji cracked his eyes open from where he'd dozed off under his arm. It took a minute for the tapping to register and he blinked, wondering who the hell would be polite enough to knock in this place. Most everyone just let themselves in around here. He hauled himself up a bit and only then noticed the spots of blood on his sheets with a scowl. Fucking orderly, no wonder he'd woken up sore. He coughed and mustered a "Come in," his voice still scratching a bit and kicked the stained sheets out of view as the door clicked open. 

The door cracked open and Zoro looked in almost suspiciously before entering the room all the way, leaning back against the door when it clicked shut. "I should have known you'd get hung over with a few sips," he said, eyeing Sanji, his mussed hair and dark eyes.

Sanji scowled and returned his face to the curve of his arm, muttering. "I'm not hung over, asshole." He didn't offer any other explanations though, the effort of talking, let alone arguing, seeming to take too much out of him. He did shift over a few inches though, in case Zoro wanted to sit. 

Zoro took the 'invitation' and sat the edge of Sanji's bed, leaning back on his elbows. He was unconvinced (Sanji weighed what, thirty pounds?) but he didn't pursue the bicker, instead taking a moment to glance around Sanji's room. He was drowsy with the light burn that his intense work-out had provided. "If you don't go to lunch they're going to come bitch you out."

Sanji shrugged. Truth was, they'd probably let him get away with not showing. Rather he be rested and recovered for the evening and whichever lonely orderly drew the longest straw next. Sometimes they bugged him about missing meals, but there'd already been someone in there that morning trying to force pills down his throat. They could care less if he didn't eat, as long as they gave him the drugs that the government mandated he receive. Sanji shifted away from the elbow that brushed his thigh and cringed at the twinge that cramped his abdomen. That orderly would definitely find himself minus a few layers of fore-skin next time he wanted a blow job, Sanji swore to himself, gritting his teeth.

Zoro watched Sanji from the corner of his eye -- he was unusually quiet today and Zoro found himself wondering why he'd come in the first place. It wasn't as though he had anything to say to Sanji. Had he grown so accustomed to the other man tagging along at him? But at least for the moment he was comfortable, so he prodded again, "Why don't you eat, anyway?"

Sanji hesitated a moment, then answered slowly. "I used to be a cook." He turned his face to the side, cradling his ear in the crook of his arm. "A really good one." There was no bravado or bragging. He was only telling the truth. "Eating the food here is to me... what giving you a foam bat and telling you to pretend it's a katana would be like to you." 

Zoro blinked. "You were... like a chef?" He wasn't sure why it was such a surprise, he himself had been a champion fighter by the age of seventeen. But Sanji had said he'd been in a juvenile ward before moving here. He must have been terribly young. It struck Zoro just how little he knew about Sanji for having been around the other man so much. "I think I know what you mean," Zoro mused, "but at least if they did that, I could hit them with the bat."

Sanji couldn't help the tiny smirk. "Let's just say it didn't go over so well the first time I threw a plate full of slop back at the orderly's head. Bastard was on my case for a week." --Not to mention in my bed.-- Sanji scowled vaguely and shifted, turning over and propping his hands behind his head so he could look up at Zoro.

Zoro snickered faintly. "I'd've paid to see that," he remarked and then sat up and arched his back slightly. "I, though, don't have your fine taste or will power. And I'm fucking hungry." He stood and paused with his hand at the doorknob. He glanced over his shoulder at Sanji, hesitated. "You really shouldn't drink on an empty stomach." With this, the only way he could think to say 'I wouldn't mind doing that again', he left.

Halfway through the meal, Sanji showed up, dragging his feet a bit, but awake and fairly alert. He'd laid in his bed for a good few minutes, trying to figure out why Zoro was being what could only be called 'nice.' Maybe it was because of the booze. Maybe he'd just have to invite the guy out again next time he snitched the keys. He'd nearly fallen out of bed then, as he remembered the keys he'd left on the floor of the orderlies' lounge and decided maybe a little lunch wasn't a bad idea after all. And so he took the peanut butter sandwich and the apple that was offered to him and scanned the lunch room looking for Zoro, finally spotting him and made his way tenderly over to the table and the empty space next to the ex-fighter currently stuffing his face with an unidentifiable-lunchmeat-filled sandwich.

Zoro glanced up from his meal, surprised to see that Sanji actually had taken his 'advice'. He swallowed as the other man sat down. "Peanut butter good for a hang over?" he teased quietly.

Sanji narrowed his eyes slightly as his teeth closed around the too-soft white bread. He chewed slowly and swallowed before answering. "At least with peanut butter I can identify what I'm eating." He indicated the lunchmeat that Zoro ate. "I'm not sure I wanna know what part of the animal they used to make that." A small smirk showed he wasn't really looking for an argument. 

A comment about the conditions in a peanut-butter factory indicating he might *not* know what he's eating was on the tip of his tongue when their verbal sparring was interrupted by someone sitting down on the other side of the table. The man was young-looking, a patient who must have been new because neither Zoro or Sanji had seen him before. His eyes were angular and features narrow, hair short and cropped on one side of his head and long and sleek on the other. He set his tray down, gaze fixed on Zoro as he slid into the seat with an odd sort of grace. 

"You're Roronoa Zoro, aren't you?" he asked quietly, his voice was smooth.

Zoro's eyes narrowed. He didn't like the way this guy carried himself, or the way he met his gaze at first glance. "Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Who would have thought I'd end up here in the same nuthouse as the great Roronoa Zoro." He smirked, making it quite obvious he wasn't complimenting the fighter. "You know, they still talk about you quite a bit out there. At least among the fighting circles. I get around. I hear things." He grinned, pausing, baiting Zoro, as though waiting for him to prompt his story further.

Zoro's mouth drew into a thin line, his whole body visibly tensing as his eyes rolled back up from the lunch tray to the man across the table. His jaw tensed, his tongue ached to ask. Finally he spat coldly, "It's no surprise. I am the strongest." He forced his eyes back to his food. 

The man's eye lit up at this. It must have been what he was waiting for, because he leaned forward boldly, elbows on the table and murmured his next words. "Not anymore, kid. Word is there's a hot new kid who's tearing up the competition. AND, she's a girl. Tashigi, they call her." He laughed quietly. "Too bad you're all locked away in here, muscles going all flabby. She's pretty hot shit, too. Really good. Too bad you'll never know if you're better than her. But from the looks of it, I doubt it."

The 'it' was still on the man's lips when Zoro's arm lashed out and grabbed the man by his collar, yanking him forward, dragging him across the table and his own food, upsetting the meals around them. Zoro was shaking visibly as his eyes locked with the stranger's, narrowed, wild, boring into his pupils. When he spoke, his voice was low, barely audible. "Going flabby?" With this, in one swift movement, Zoro was on his feet and had dragged the man all the way across the table and thrown him into an empty table and chairs; the clatter echoed through the mess hall which had momentarily fallen silent. "Funny," Zoro growled as the stranger stumbled to his feet, bleeding from a gash in his forehead. Zoro stalked forward, getting in a solid right hook before he could even think to block. "They seem to be working fine to me." Finished with words, Zoro shoved the man back down and was about to tear into him again when the orderlies belatedly showed up. But the hired help proved inadequate for the moment when Zoro took one out with a solid punch square in his nose and slammed the other's head into the unforgiving surface of a cafeteria table. The ex-fighter turned on his original prey before the rest of the goons could make it over.

A flash of fear hit Sanji as he realized this could mean serious repercussions for Zoro. They might even send him somewhere else. Somewhere more high security. So he leapt up and just as Zoro was about to go for the new guy again, darted between the two of them, yelling at him to stop. He locked eyes with Zoro and found they were not the same lazy, near-kind brown he'd seen this morning. Once again they flashed with a bloody red anger and Sanji tensed. 

Zoro's eyes narrowed, focusing on Sanji -- he wouldn't let anyone get in the way of this fight, he'd slam that cocky fuck's head into the tile til it cracked -- and snarling at Sanji to get out of the way, he swung a heavy fist at the blond's head.

Sanji took a breath as the fist swung toward him, willing the scene into slow-motion as he ducked easily and brought up a foot into Zoro's breast plate sharply, sending him back a few steps. Hopefully enough of a distraction for that moron who'd provoked the fighter to get the hell out of the room. "Zoro... " he warned, an apology in his eyes.

Shock was evident in Zoro's face, breaking through the fury etched across his features. His chest burned where Sanji's foot had hit him, he almost wheezed. How could Sanji, scrawny, gangly Sanji and his bare feet -- how? Zoro's eyes flashed, he charged again, that wildness still in his eyes but it was sharper now, his anger wasn't so completely unbridled and his movement improved. His fist aimed for Sanji's ribs this time, his eyes locking with the blond's.

Sanji dodged, twisting and throwing his torso away from the attack, til he was standing to one side of Zoro, and swung his leg around to connect sharply and precisely with the small of his back. A move that would normally knock the wind from any other opponent. Sanji suspected, however, that it wouldn't be nearly as effective on Zoro. He could tell the fight was changing. Zoro's moves were sharper, his old skill showing through. Still, Sanji stayed on his toes, stretching his senses, his awareness to every flex of Zoro's muscles, looking for which way he'd move next. If he could just hold the other boy off before he killed someone... 

Zoro stumbled, caught himself on a chair, gritting his teeth. His fingers ached for the texture of bindings. His blood was hot with adrenaline, surging with life as he hadn't in so long -- eyes only for Sanji, the rest of the cafeteria was gone, the weakling on the floor forgotten and bleeding. His body tingled as though his very nerves were awakening and he could smell Sanji and feel his pulse in the air, hear the sound of his bones moving and he whirled from the blow, the chair clattered away. And with a demon's speed and a barrelling blow, he was on Sanji, pinning him to the cold tile, fist raised while those eyes tore through his opponent's very being. And then, his hand at its apex, Zoro gave a violent twitch and he shuddered, his pupils contracted. Behind him, an orderly yanked the needle from his shoulder as his arm fell, shoulders slumping as the fast-working drug took hold. His hands were still fisted around invisible katanas as the guards hauled Zoro off of Sanji and as they pulled him away, his hooded gaze found the other man's face again and he smiled, a soft, genuine smile.

Sanji breathed hard, relief and thrill and heat washing over his body. And he sat up, staring open-mouthed at Zoro's smile even as they dragged him away. Then he stood and turned to the moron who'd started the whole thing, shrugging off the orderlies long enough to spit in his direction. "You fucking idiot. What the hell did you think you were doing? That's Roronoa Zoro, you stupid fuck." Then, without protest, he let a nervous looking nurse guide him out of the room and toward the other end of the wing and the row of doors leading to the solitary units. All he could think was that he hoped Zoro would get no more than solitary for this stunt. He wanted to see that smile again.


	4. Chapter 4

Zoro was not so easy to cool off this time around. Once the injection had worn off, he could be heard through the wing, shouting all manner of obscenities, ranging from accusations of the hospital holding him to contain his strength to horrible, agonized howls. When the Dr. Hina showed up, he showered her with anger as well, the quack, the prostitute, the weakling. Long after Sanji was released, Zoro remained in his cell. Hushed rumors were all over the hospital about the fool who'd provoked Zoro -- he was in intensive care with a fractured skull and two broken ribs. It was almost two weeks after Sanji's release that word started going around that Zoro would soon be let out.

Sanji, on the other hand was unusually subdued during those weeks. He never showed up for more than one meal a day and spent most of his time in his room, contemplating the walls and at night Zoro and All Blue fought for ownership of his dreams. He started venturing out again, and sitting in the window seat once the rumors started though. He wanted to see him again, to be sure to catch him when they finally let him out. 

Even after Zoro had been released, his activities were limited. For the first few days he didn't leave his room, not even for meals. It wasn't until the third day that he showed himself, not at the windowsill but rather in the yard that afternoon. Not exercising but instead sitting at a bench, eyes closed lightly as though the sun were too much for him. His short hair was growing shaggy, unkempt and dark circles lined his eyes. And despite his quiet exterior, the other patients gave him an even wider girth than ever.

It was that day that Sanji wandered out into the yard and sat on the same bench, leaving a good three feet between them and for once not saying anything right away. He just wanted to feel out Zoro's presence, his mood. And he looked down at his own hands and his bare, always bare, feet quietly. It hadn't been the first time he'd kicked anyone. And they'd been quick to take away and forbid him any footwear after he'd kicked that doctor in the face and broke his cheekbone when he'd arrived at the hospital. The incident with Zoro and that moron had been the first time he'd revisited his old training since they'd taken away his shoes. And he was confused and thrilled by the spark it'd sent through his blood. He'd never dreamed more strongly of All Blue than the night after that. But it had slipped away again, leaving him craving Zoro, so far the only solid evidence he had.

For a long while Zoro was silent, unmoving. He felt as though he hadn't seen, hadn't felt the sun in years. He needed it, needed something to feel. Finally, he opened his eyes and turned them on the other man as though he'd just realized he was there in spite of his tuned senses. The eyes that could burn so violently were empty, not with drugged stupor but simply hollow. "Sanji." It was the first time he'd ever used Sanji's name.

The word startled Sanji but he lifted his face slowly to meet Zoro's horrible hollow gaze and he felt his chest ache suddenly. What were they doing to him in here? He wanted to scream then, to stand and kick Zoro until that fire came back, until he was drowning in the ocean he had begun to think might be Zoro's as well. Instead, he simply replied with, "Zoro," his voice cracking very slightly.

"How long was it?" Zoro asked, his voice quiet. His back bent, elbows resting on his knees and gaze turning toward the ground. He'd refused to ask the hospital staff. He refused to talk to Dr. Hina anymore. He refused to talk to the people who'd taken away everything he felt.

Sanji searched the ex-fighter's face, concern knitting his brow. "Ah... about three weeks," he murmured, "Two more than me," he added. He risked scooting a foot closer to the still, slumped figure, an irrational thought entering his mind that he had to make sure the fish still swam through the inky waves across Zoro's shoulder blades. 

"It's all gone..." Zoro said quietly. He bowed his head, fingers clawing through his hair. "They took it all. I almost had it for a second again and they took it away." His voice was filled with a quiet desperation, aching. "I couldn't do anything about the drugs in there, they gave me something new... I couldn't..." Zoro's fingers clenched against his scalp, tangling in his short locks. "I'm never going to have it again..."

Sanji's breath caught in his throat and his heart thumped against his ribs maddeningly. He clutched at his shirt front and moved another foot closer to Zoro, swallowing hard and trying to find his voice. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. His voice cracked again as he spoke. "Zoro." He shook his head. Zoro didn't look up, so he slipped to the ground, bare toes scraping against the dusty earth as he positioned himself in front of Zoro, on his knees and looked up into the boy's down-turned face. His eyes seemed so pale next too the dark flesh that rimmed them. "You will. You will." He knew because Zoro and his eyes, the ones that were alive, shared dominance in his dreams now. They were real, both of them. Zoro had said so. "It's real," he repeated. Then, without warning, he reached up and took Zoro's face in a thin pale hand and pressed his fingers into the sunken cheekbone and jaw. He forced the eyes to meet his own. Then with every bit of energy he could muster, he sent that feeling through his gaze, that certainty Zoro had made him feel. He *pushed* it through his eyes, willing Zoro to see it, to feel it. The existence of All Blue. "You have it." His fingers tightened on Zoro's face, fingernails leaving little crescent moons in his skin. 

Zoro was thoroughly captured by that gaze, those pricks of sensation on his cheeks, his sunken-in eyes staring back at Sanji. Sanji that had almost made him feel again, that made him feel now, made him ache all over again for something always just out of reach. Sanji who now he wanted to tear apart in all his frailty and strength, who he had spent three weeks longing to touch. Tears welled in Zoro's eyes, he was shaking, trembling as though he'd fall to pieces. "The orderlies," he whispered hoarsely, while his fingers ached to close around those thin wrists as much as they hungered for the hilts of his swords, to take them with the same grip. But he could feel the eyes of the guards -- one wrong move and he knew he'd be put up again or sent off. Hina had told him this was his last chance. He couldn't go now. 

Sanji swallowed hard, knowing the boy was right and let his fingers loosen their grip on Zoro's cheek. He leaned upward so that his lips were barely brushing the curve of Zoro's ear. "I'll wait for you," he murmured, hoping, knowing he would understand. For as long as it took for the orderlies to relax, for Zoro to get some sense of himself back. For the tide to rise again. Then he stood, fingers lingering only for the briefest of moments on Zoro's face and he turned. Leaving the yard he returned inside, heart thrashing against his ribs as he padded back to his room, yet mind strangely calm. 

 

As days passed, Zoro's presence was still lacking. He rarely left his room, he didn't exercise and ate little. He'd visibly lost weight since going into solitary. His eyes still had that dead, empty look about them as though there were no one looking out from behind those eyes. Sanji's presence and lack of both tore him apart -- all he felt anymore was need, longing, Sanji became the obsession at the back of his mind. Wanting to be around him, tortured when he was. Needing to touch him, to feel that strength again, that surprising, amazing strength. 

Finally one afternoon, he ventured into the common room to find Sanji at the window and approached slowly, carefully, as though he were hunting the other man. And then he slid into the seat with a slow listlessness he'd never had before. He looked out the window. And at Sanji. At Sanji's bare feet, propped up on the cushion. He felt he wanted to touch them; his fingers twitched. "How... how did you get so good?" Zoro asked finally.

Sanji started, turning his gaze away from the tilting bird feeder and found Zoro sitting across from him, speaking for the first time in days and his throat contracted. He coughed. "Wh-what?"

"You..." Zoro looked away, his hands opening and closing in his lap slowly, gripping something not there. His brow furrowed and he took several deep breaths as though gathering his thoughts, pulling himself together. "You're strong," he managed. Why was it so hard? "How did you get so strong?"

Sanji blinked, tearing his eyes from Zoro's twitching hands and thought about this. "I... I had to. To repay the person who gave me my life. I became strong for him." It sounded strange spoken aloud. He wondered if it sounded foolish. But the man who he came to think of as a father had cheated death for him and gave his life meaning once. It seemed like such a long time ago now. His goals and promises now seemed empty. So why did the strength come back to him now?

For a long moment, Zoro just looked at Sanji and for the first time since leaving solitary his face expressed something other than that tortured emptiness. For a moment he looked puzzled, like he was trying to remember something far in the back of his mind. He frowned and turned his head slightly and said, "That was good of you." He leaned back against the wall then, looking at Sanji, contemplating him and said quietly, as though to himself, "I wish I had my katana."

Sanji let his feet slip across the seat so his legs stretched out straight, parallel to Zoro's, almost touching and he stared at them, following their lines down to his toes, until his gaze drifted to Zoro and his hips and torso and neck and face and eyes. "Did she mean very much to you?" Sanji asked. 

Zoro's eyes sharpened suddenly, his head snapping up. "What?"

"The one whose name is on your lips when you look out the window and think no one's watching," Sanji murmured quietly, half sadly. "...when you clench your hands as though your katana is still there."

The ex-fighter's nostrils flared with his breath, his eyes wide and staring into Sanji's face. His hands gripped his thighs self-consciously and he looked away. "That was a very... a very long time ago," he said coldly, decisively. He stared at a spot on the cushion. He didn't talk about this. Never. His voice was quiet, very quiet when he spoke again. "It was hers. I -- I became strong for her. Both of us."

Sanji nodded silently. He felt very tired and without a word tucked his legs back up under him, as he turned around and lay across the window seat, face pressing into the worn fabric mere centimeters from Zoro's leg. "I haven't felt strong in a long time," he admitted quietly.

"You don't look very strong," Zoro told him, looking down at him, so frail. "I was surprised." He looked at Sanji quietly for a moment. "It's still there though," he added. "It just had to be reminded."

"I was afraid they would take you away," Sanji whispered into Zoro's leg. 

Zoro frowned -- his eyes were on Sanji's hair, how it spilled around his head when he lay like that. He found his hands gripping at the air again and tentatively, slowly, hesitantly he reached for the golden strands, just the slightest touch. Soft, like a fabric he hadn't felt in ages. His fingertips ghosted over Sanji's locks -- he hadn't felt something so soft in a long time, all cotton tunics and itchy linens, padding and unforgiving straps and buckles. "I would have killed you," Zoro said softly. There was a strange, incongruently gentle quality to his voice.

Stupid, frustrated tears sprang into the corners of Sanji's eyes at Zoro's words and at his touch. "I would have gladly drowned in your ocean if the alternative was to die on dry land... alone." It took even him a moment to register that he'd called it Zoro's. That was it then. And he was closer to All Blue than ever and suddenly he was clutching at Zoro's leg through the rough grey fabric. And he was crying.

With a strange sense of calm settling in on him, Zoro felt the tense eyes of their ever present guard and his gaze rolled up, meeting those eyes across the room, warning them away. The orderly hesitated, looking perplexed but stayed in his place, watching carefully as Zoro continued to stroke Sanji's hair. Slowly, gently, softly. Threading his fingers lightly through the golden strands, watching Sanji cry, letting him cry, silent. Sanji cried equally silently, little shudders rippling down his back as he clung to Zoro's leg. He aught to feel embaressed or ashamed but there was no room for those things. And finally, he sniffed and shivered himself into a sort of sleep, his arm wrapped around Zoro's thigh as though daring him to move, to extract himself from the hold. But Zoro stayed there, looking out the window, looking at Sanji, his fingers still running through that foreign silk from time to time. The common room television buzzed; nearby Kuro and Morgan argued over a game of cards. Sanji quivered in his sleep. The orderly relaxed enough to cast them a wary glance from time to time. 

He stayed there until they were being shooed out of the room to bed and Zoro woke Sanji with a hand on his head. "It's time for bed." And at the doorway he looked at Sanji as though he might have something to say but nothing came out, only his mouth twitched as though that smile were trying to tug at it and he turned in the direction of his room.

Sanji stood in his doorway, face pressed against the door frame and watched, with hooded eyes, Zoro walk toward his room. His chest ached as he turned away and he fell into bed, asleep again in minutes. When the night orderly crept into his room between rounds, Sanji refused the pack of cigarettes he was offered and got instead a bruise across his cheek bone when the man -- no timid, nervous first-timer, this one -- smashed his face against the metal bed frame with a warning to loosen up next time. Sanji crawled back into bed when he left and curled up on his side, willing the dreams of Zoro to return.


	5. Chapter 5

It was several nights later that Sanji's door creaked open a few minutes after it had just clicked shut on the hourly check. A hand nudged at Sanji's shoulder; Zoro was looming over him, holding the keys Sanji had stolen over a month earlier. "I know where this one goes," he whispered.

Sanji blinked into the darkness. "Zoro?" he mumbled. He let a smirk play at the corner of his mouth before rising and following the man.

Zoro led the way through the corridors, listening carefully until he was unlocking the entrance to the shower room. He slipped in and locked it shut again behind them. Glancing around he said quietly as they stepped through the dark foyer, "It doesn't have booze but we're less likely to get found." The communal showers' tiles had dried after the day's use and the moon painted bright squares through the barred windows on the cold blue floor.

Sanji stepped into the room, shivering only very slightly at the chill that touched his feet. The dim light cast alternating bars of shadow and light across his face and his bare torso, highlighting the criss-crossing scars that textured his stomach and chest and crept down past the waist band of his pants. Thin white slices, thick pink ones. Some precise, some jagged. He turned his face to Zoro and spoke in a whisper. "It's almost pretty in here. At night."

It wasn't until Sanji had stepped into the light offered through the high-set windows that Zoro's eyes widened upon falling on the other man's bare stomach and chest. He'd never seen the flesh of Sanji's torso before, the raised and stretched flesh of new and old scars. Following Sanji into the tiled room, he breathed, "Yeah. It is." He tried to force his gaze from Sanji's ruined flesh lest he get the wrong impression but the skin caught his eye with each glance.

Either not noticing Zoro's gaze or not caring, Sanji sat, then stretched out across the tiles, allowing the moonlight to cast across his body. Putting his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes. Zoro lowered himself to the tile beside Sanji, his back quivering slightly as he eased it back against the cold tile wall. His eyes remained fixed on striped Sanji, the lines of cool, soft light making his skin appear even paler than ever, practically pearlescent. And it made the slashes and cuts that patterned his stomach and chest stand out all that much more. Zoro's gaze wandered slowly up the length of Sanji's torso, over each mark and over Sanji's smooth marble shoulders to his relaxed, peaceful face and back down. He was fascinated by the other's naked skin -- he found his fingers tingling to touch the scarred flesh the same way they tingled to close around a sword's hilt or the throat of another man. 

"So many," he murmured under his breath, barely audible.

Sanji's eyes slit open. In the utter silence the room seemed to command, even a whisper could be heard. He turned his eyes to Zoro, searching the other man's face. "Do you think it's horrible?" he asked, voice even, calm. "Ugly?" he added. A pale hand slipped from under his head and slipped down his torso, feeling out the rough bumps and dips, fingers traveling over each intimate mark. He knew every one. The thin hand paused at his stomach and draped there, half covering his abdomen.

"No," Zoro breathed. He looked from Sanji's stomach to his face when he spoke in a quiet, awed voice. "It's beautiful."

A small grin tugged at the corner of Sanji's mouth. "You're the first to agree," he murmured, touching himself again, fingers brushing flesh with near reverence. Then he reached out for Zoro's hand. An offer. 

Zoro tentatively let Sanji take his hand and guide it to his chest. He swallowed thickly as his callussed fingers traced out the raised, pink skin and soft white dips slowly, his eyes following the light, gentle movements, mirroring Sanji's reverence. "You... you've lived a lot."

Sanji tugged gently at Zoro's hand, drawing the other man down closer so he could reach up and trace the sunken dark edges of Zoro's eyes with a gentle thumb. "So have you."

Zoro frowned slightly, lifting his free hand so his fingers didn't have to leave Sanji's stomach where they continued to stroke lightly at the scars. He lightly took Sanji's wrist and guided his hand away from his face. "Not there. That's not living." He led the hand down to his own stomach where he slid it beneath the edge of his tunic and pressed the cool, thin hand against his stomach and his own ruined flesh, the thick scar that ripped down his torso. "Here."

Sanji's eyes widened slightly. He'd never really got a good look at Zoro's front, far too distracted by the ink on his back. But now... he sat up slowly so as not to shake off Zoro's touch. With his own two hands, he pushed up at Zoro's shirt, pulling it over the other's head carefully, then letting it slip from his fingers as his eyes washed over the wide scar and a number of smaller ones that cut across his arms and chest. But this one, Sanji's fingers stroked down it's length from shoulder to hip. "Why... why aren't you dead?" was the first thing that came to Sanji's mind. 

Half a dozen responses were on Zoro's tongue but the one that fell from it was, "Because I'm alive." He stopped, lips working for a moment. "Because... I'm the strongest. This is my proof." It occurred to him somewhere in the back of his mind that this should seem strange, sitting here in the shower room, letting Sanji touch his scars, touching Sanji's scars, but it didn't, it wasn't. It was all too natural, his fingertips tracing jaggedly marked flesh across Sanji's hip. The cool hand on his torn chest sent a twinge through his stomach.

Sanji laughed sadly. "I envy you then." He looked down at his torso and the place on his hip where Zoro's fingers moved. "These marks, my marks are beautiful. But they show my weakness, not my strength." His thumb again rubbed over Zoro's scar. "I let All Blue slip through my fingers because I was not strong enough to hold onto it." It was how he knew that Zoro had All Blue, because just his presence made his scars ache to be re-opened.

"Nn." Zoro shook his head, his eyes on Sanji's stomach as he lightly pressed his hand flat against it. Pink ribbons wove between his spread fingers. "They don't *mean* strength or weakness. Just that you felt, that's what's important. That you lived." Slowly Zoro was leaning forward until his forehead lightly touched Sanji's, his eyes still cast between their bodies and his hands moving lightly over Sanji's skin. "You must have felt..." Fingertips brushed the soft flesh of a particularly dark mark. "You must *feel* so much."

A violent shiver shook Sanji's spine and his eyes turned down to Zoro's hand. He shook his head slightly. "Look," he motioned. "They're all old. I haven't felt it for a long time." He hesitated then. "But... you remind me." He closed a hand over Zoro's, keeping the other's rough palm on his stomach even as his other hand remained on Zoro's chest.

"Good," Zoro murmured. He closed his eyes, just touching lightly Sanji's flat, textured stomach. He wanted Sanji to feel whatever it was that he was looking for in that ocean of his -- he wanted to evoke it just as Sanji had for him even for the slightest moment. His hand beneath Sanji's moved up slowly, up the center of his chest and fingers trailing across his collarbone. Everything that he wanted to feel and touch and break. "You too."

Sanji's eyes fell shut and he leaned forward into the touch, head reeling from sensation. There was nothing sexual in the touch, he had no sense that Zoro wanted to take anything from him. It was gentle and sincere and full of power. He could feel the ocean in his touch, lapping quietly at his dry shore. He opened his eyes then, suddenly needing to share this, to make Zoro feel it too. Where were his eyes in the dim light? Sanji reached out and tilted Zoro's face to find them.

Zoro's eyes slit open at the light touch of fingers on his face, white shine set in the dark circles beneath his brow. Dark pupils that were caught by Sanji's blue gaze, clouded with something... with deep longing, a hunger that was never quite sated. But a calm filled those eyes as well and no longer was his gaze the tortured, dead gaze it had been since he'd reappeared from solitary. Zoro's fingers were trembling as they reached for Sanji's face slowly, barely able to stand the other man's gaze in his eyes, the same feeling he'd gotten when he felt Sanji's nails bite his cheeks and was all but commanded to feel. His hands cupped Sanji's face, hands warm against his cold cheeks and just stayed there, feeling. 

Sanji hardly dared breathe as his vision dove into Zoro's, and as the hands came up to warm his cheeks, he gave a tiny hiccup, biting his lower lip slightly. With every moment they stayed liked this, the feeling surged higher until he found he was gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into Zoro's hip. "It... hurts..." he whimpered very quietly. 

Zoro searched Sanji's face, the exquisite twist of emotion there. Golden hair tickled the backs of his hands. He ached deep in the center of his chest, from the depths that every feeling came from, deep beneath that scar. His thumbs pressed at the edges of Sanji's cheekbones, refusing to let go until the very moment he knew it was too much and released Sanji's face. Released his eyes. Let the swell recede to a dull roar. And then leaning back against the tiled wall, he tugged at Sanji's arm, guiding him to rest against his shoulder.

Sanji let out a deep shaky breath and allowed himself to be pulled into the curve of Zoro's torso, pressing his face into the larger boy's neck. He quivered once and again, growing accustomed to Zoro's warmth, letting it seep into his cool pale skin. "Zoro," he murmured. "Do you feel it?" He needed to know. To know he wasn't the only one. At least here, now, in this instant that he wasn't crazy.

Zoro's hand came to rest on Sanji's shoulder, he breathed softly into his hair. He was so cold and frail, so strong and powerful and overwhelming. "Yeah," he murmured into Sanji's hair. "I feel it." He hadn't been forced to, been able to feel anything like this in ages. And never had it been like this, this ever present ache that seeped over his body. For him, feeling had always been a burst of intensity, a brief flash of something fantastic and dangerous. This, this was fantastic and dangerous as well... but instead of withering away, snuffing out, it lingered like Sanji's cigarette smoke clinging to him. It made his insides tremble. 

Tears of relief gathered at the edges of Sanji's eyes and he squeezed them shut, pressing his cheek more firmly into the smooth solid muscle of Zoro's shoulder. He found he couldn't say anything then, so instead he drew his knees up against his chest and climbed farther into the circle of Zoro's legs. 

It was strange having Sanji resting against him -- not bad really, just strange. In the outside world, Zoro had never indulged much in intimacy after he found the charge involved in sex to be inadequate. There were more important and more thrilling things. And he'd never experienced anything quite as intimate as this. Sanji's cool, pale form curled against him. Slowly he circled his arms around the slight body against his and closed his eyes. He was tired. Feeling so much was exhausting.

He'd lost track of time and a tiny jump of panic disturbed Sanji's quiet. He lifted his face, and touching Zoro's shoulder, coaxed him awake. "Zoro... we've gotta go back." They can't find you here... You might not come back... He didn't say it aloud but the concern laced his voice. 

Zoro's eyes cracked open; he made a soft noise. He didn't care to go back to his bed, not when Sanji was growing warm all wrapped up in his arms. But then his eyes focused on Sanji's face and the anxiety painted on it and he understood. He hesitated at the door, the key at the knob and his shirt in his free hand. "I... I want to do this again," he said quietly, almost gruffly.

Sanji smiled very softly, looking at the floor and Zoro's feet. "You'd better keep hold of the keys. They've taken to searching my room recently." He looked up then and gave Zoro's arms a little squeeze before turning and hurrying down the dark hall toward his own room. 

Zoro found it odd that his bed should seem cold after being against the cold tile but he decided he would have been more comfortable there. It was very rare that sleep was difficult for the ex-fighter but after cat napping in the shower room, he found that his bed refused him sleep. He tucked his arms behind his head and shot a nasty glance at the orderly that stuck his head in the door minutes later. The man quickly ducked back out under the sharp gaze and left Zoro to contemplate the ceiling and the heavy sort of feeling that lingered in his body. He decided that the next day he'd work out. To build the strength to carry it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written December 2003

It became a frequent practice for Zoro and Sanji to escape to the showers in the inky dark of the night for the chance to exist outside the watchful eye of the guards and leers of the other patients. To Zoro it was the opportunity to indulge in Sanji, he let the other man lean into his warmth, sometimes let his fingers trail through the silk of his hair. Sometimes Zoro would drift into sleep but Sanji was always alert and would wake him urgently and push him toward the door. Sometimes his fingers would tense at Sanji's neck with the urge to snap it with his own hands, to feel in his grip the surge and ebb of the life he valued and contemplated more than his own these days. Sometimes, like tonight, Sanji would crack the windows and smoke and the moonlight would play on the nicotine laced warmth and cast eerie shadows on the tiles. Zoro took a drag from the cigarette between Sanji's fingers when it was held to his lips not because he liked the nicotine but because the filter tasted like lips he'd never touched. He exhaled heavily, smoke curling and playing at the tips of Sanji's hair as he took back the cigarette, head rested on Zoro's shoulder. "How'd you get here, anyway, cook?" If Zoro addressed him as anything, it was 'cook', as though the boy's name was too much for his lips. His voice was quiet, as they always were here because it echoed through the silent tile room. "You're not like me. Who did you kill?"

Sanji took another drag, thoughtful for a moment. What Zoro asked was something he'd never even spoken about with the doctors. He'd refused. But now, in the street-lamp lit showers, sharing a cigarette with the first bit of trust he'd found, Sanji's lips loosened. "Zeff." He breathed the name. "The only person I became strong for." And he paused, not from overwhelm or emotion, but simply because he wasn't sure what to say next. 

Zoro's head tilted just the slightest. The truth was, he still knew so little about Sanji. As intimately as he experienced whatever it was that they shared, the mutual charge of pure living, he knew next to nothing about Sanji's past. He knew he'd been a cook, spent time in juvee and must have killed someone to end up in this place. But beyond that, he knew more about Sanji's mystery ocean than Sanji himself. He just never thought much of it but now, his curiosity piqued. He knew Sanji didn't crave the thrill of power, didn't share his bloodlust. He was really quite a mild fellow when left to his own devices. "Why?"

"I told you he gave me my life. Wretched little thing I was. Quite literally would have starved to death if he hadn't taken pity on me." Sanji hesitated briefly, surprised how easy the words came. "He made sacrifices for me, gave up dreams, in favor of raising a brat. Thing is.. he never let me forget it. It was alway there... hanging between us. This thing that bound me to him forever, an unpayable debt that demanded payment anyway. I worked so hard... to please him everyday... every night..." Sanji stubbed the cigarette out on the tiles between his bare feet. "Despite it all, I believed that I would find All Blue and share it with him and it would finally be enough."

Zoro listened silently. Sanji talked a lot -- but it was rarely so... lucid.  
"I became strong, he taught me everything about fighting and cooking that he knew and I became better, but All Blue was still so far out of my reach. I was 16 when the guy, I don't even remember his name now... when he laughed at All Blue and called me Zeff's pet and asked me if I only reserved my attentions for dirty old men." Sanji stopped here, hands shaking and lit another cigarettes. His eyes were open wider now, staring at the tiles but he continued. "I... was cutting fish and the knife just slipped into my hand and I was going to kill him. But then Zeff was there between us and he..." Sanji's voice shook. Angrily. "And he told me to stop. It wasn't worth it. A child's story wasn't worth hurting someone over. And that was it. He didn't really believe in All Blue. He knew I'd never pay him back. I would be bound to him forever no matter what I did... I don't think he even saw it coming, never believed I would try to free myself that way. And then it was too late. And his blood was in my hair and on my hands and on my apron and the knife and the other cook. The chikenshit who wanted to fuck me and he screamed, but I didn't kill him. I only kicked him to shut him up." And Sanji fell silent.

The silence was heavy. Sanji's cigarette smoke drifted around them lazily. Zoro's head was tilted back against the wall, chin pointed to the ceiling and his eyes lightly shut but not asleep. His eyelids were painted with the phantom watercolors of Sanji's power and there was a taste in his mouth -- a faintly sweet taste that for a moment he thought had come from Sanji's cigarette before he recognized it. The taste that came with truly living, that had once flooded over his tongue. He licked his lips and it mingled with that Sanji-cigarette-taste still lingering there. "Was it good to be free?" Zoro finally asked.

"Yes." He smiled vaguely. "For a very short time. And then they locked me away and I realized I'd lost my reason to be strong." He laughed rather ruefully. "And I went back to the only other thing I was ever good at. Collecting cigarettes."

Zoro suddenly lifted his head and contemplated the door across the room for a long moment before taking Sanji's cigarette from him to steal another drag. His mouth twitched in distaste for it and he said around his exhale as he handed it back, "I would have liked to taste your cooking."

Sanji re-claimed the cigarette with a raised brow. Then he smiled. "I would have liked to cook for you. Believe me, you'd never go back to the shit they serve here afterwards." 

A yawn, a stretch, a faint snicker. "You might be surprised. Not that I couldn't appreciate it but hunger's hunger." He slumped back against the wall, following the cigarette to Sanji's lips. "Do you aim to kill off all your taste buds til you can eat again?"

"Cigarette's the best tasting thing I can get in here, might as well enjoy it." Sanji smirked and handed it back to Zoro. "You seem to be developing a taste for them."

"Not really," Zoro replied as he took the cigarette from Sanji and brought it back to his own mouth.

Sanji plucked the cigarette back from Zoro's lips with a small laugh. "Well, don't waste it then!" he mock-protested, replacing the cylinder between his own teeth.

A scowl, a glance, the tiniest quirk of a smile. Just as soon as Sanji had replaced the cigarette, Zoro had plucked it away again and replaced it with his own lips, turning Sanji's face to him with his free hand and breathing smoke and nicotine into his mouth. Sanji's eyes went wide and he nearly choked on the unexpected swirl of smoke that filled his mouth. But instead, his fingers found the back of Zoro's head, and twisted in the shaggy hair, and with his tongue pushed the warm smoky air back into Zoro's mouth.

Zoro welcomed the breath back to his mouth, taking it back laced with Sanji's taste and for a moment he thought he'd die. But then life twinged through him, down his chest along his scar as Sanji filled his mouth and his lungs, his taste on his tongue and his breath in his throat. Zoro's eyes slid shut -- vision was too much, he was consumed by the breath that traveled through him and Sanji's tongue grazing his lip and the cheek beneath his hand and the hair brushing his face. The life and smoky death moving through his lungs, he swore he could feel Sanji in his chest, caressing his insides with swirling tendrils. And then he was sending it back again in an instant, the smoke and nicotine diminishing with each exchange. Less cigarette, more Sanji. More Zoro. And Sanji had been wrong. There was something in this dead grey world that tasted better than his cigarettes. And he breathed and drank and swallowed it deeply. 

When their mouths finally parted, the last few wisps of smoke floating between their lips, Zoro stared into Sanji's face. His hand slid away from Sanji's cheek. "We should go back," he said quietly.

Sanji stared back, unmoving, for a long moment before nodding, silently. His heart thumped erratically against his ribs but he managed to stand after stubbing out the cigarette on the tiled floor and pocketing the remains. Zoro's good night was a hesitant glance at the door and a faint twitch of his mouth. He pocketed the key and turned in the direction of his room.

As quickly and quietly as possible, Sanji sneaked back to his own room, easing the door open and slipping inside. It wasn't until the door clicked shut at his back and he took the first step toward his bed that he realized there was someone already there. A sharp intake of breath and a step backward were the only signs that he'd been caught off guard.

The scarred face that turned toward Sanji through the dim of his room bore a cold smirk. "Sneaking out again, little waiter?"

Sanji grit his teeth and regained his composure, stepping forward with hands hooked lazily over the edge of his waist band. The orderly wasn't a stranger to his room, but he wasn't exactly welcome company either. He half-growled, but didn't risk loosening his tongue to let slip what he was thinking. For once, he simply wanted to be allowed to go back to sleep. 

The orderly rose to his feet, moving toward Sanji slowly. "Back just in time for rounds, too," he said, voice sickly-sweet. He sniffed as he came closer. "And from the smell of it, you'll need more cigarettes." Now well within Sanji's personal space, his fingers reached into the pocket of his tunic to pluck out the half-used cigarette from where Sanji had tucked it.

Sanji bristled visibly and sneered at the orderly. "I'm doing just fine, thanks." A horrible wave of disgust flooded through Sanji's chest, pushing aside that warm, smoky feeling Zoro and he had shared just moments earlier. 

The orderly's eyes narrowed, he tossed his light hair out of his eyes. "You've been particularly difficult lately, Sanji," he sneered. "That little boyfriend of yours making you go soft?"

The anger flared in Sanji's chest and throat. "You're the only one who makes me go soft around here, Mr. Fullbody," he growled, tugging slightly at the fabric at the front of his pants to make his meaning clear.

Fullbody stiffened and his face twisted with anger -- the back of his hand struck sharply across Sanji's cheekbone. "Well luckily you don't *need* to be hard for what you're going to do," he growled and his fingers lashed out, twisting in Sanji's hair and yanking him forward so Fullbody could look him in the eye. "And if you don't want Smoker to know you've been sneaking out with your little boyfriend every week, you'll keep nice and quiet."

Sanji ground his teeth, wanting with every piece of his being to lash out with his feet, give the asshole something to think about, but the threat held him back, quivering with tension. If the warden knew what Fullbody knew, they might get solitary again, worse Zoro might get sent somewhere else. "Fucker," he spat.

With a painful yank at Sanji's hair, Fullbody shoved him onto the bed and a strong hand closed on his throat, pressing his head back into the pillow tightly. Wasting no time, he smashed one wrist to the metal grated headboard where a leather strap waited to be lashed around Sanji's thin arm. The other wrist followed in suit and Fullbody was sitting on Sanji's stomach. Sneering down at the patient, he eyed him for a moment before his fingers again crept for the pocket of Sanji's tunic to retrieve the half burned cigarette. "In the outside world, people would call you a cheapskate, Sanji, saving your used cigarettes." Fullbody's fingers placed the cigarette between his lips and he reached in his pocket to retrieve a lighter. His breath hissed as he lit it and exhaled. "But each one is precious to you, isn't it?" Tucking the smoke between his fingers, he pushed up Sanji's shirt to reveal his scar-mapped stomach. The cigarette hissed as well when its burning tip pressed against his flesh.

Sanji thrashed against the bindings and the weight on his hips, expression changing from rage to shock to pain as Fullbody buried the lit end of his cigarette among the scars on his stomach. He managed to react with only a strangled gasp, but as the cigarette was lifted and brought to rest a second time, Sanji's resolved cracked and a choked cry sprang from his dry lips.

A second blow landed across Sanji's mouth and the salty tang of blood touched his tongue. "Shut up," he growled around the cigarette as he revived the glowing tip with his breath. His eyes narrowed on Sanji's face as he took it from his lips again. "This can't be any worse than what that swordfighter does to you. I'm surprised you're not dead, messing around with that nutcase." With this, the cigarette was pressed to his skin again.

Sanji panted heavily, and spat blood from his lips. Foolishly, Fullbody had failed to strap his legs down and he took advantage of this oversight, thrusting upwards sharply with his hips, just enough to unbalance the orderly, and brought a knee up into his back, following it by a blow to his head with the inside of Sanji's bare foot. "-YOU'RE- dead, fucker!" He grated, not bothering to keep his voice down. He was hot with fury now, adrenaline rushing through his blood. 

The cigarette hit the tile floor, hissing angrily as Fullbody just barely caught himself on the headboard. His hand slammed down on Sanji's throat, dangerously tight around that deceptively small neck. "I'll drug you if I have to, you little slut," he growled, grabbing at the front of Sanji's pants, yanking. The cheap hospital issue material tore beneath Fullbody's fingers which hurried then to tug his own pants open before closing harshly on Sanji's genitals, as warning as the tight grip on his windpipe as he sought entry.

Sanji choked, tried to cough, his eyes burning as Fullbody's fingers squeezed the flesh of his throat. Then he was writhing, trying to pull away as the man thrust into him without warning or preparation. He could only whine, open-mouthed, an imitation of a scream as the sensitive flesh tightened, protesting its invasion and tore. His shackled hands clenched into useless fists. Fullbody's face tensed with pleasure, his hand holding just tight enough to Sanji to keep him down without making him loose consciousness as he trust into the man's ripped flesh. His free hand gripped hard at Sanji's hip, pressing him down against the mattress while his teeth bared, eyes screwed shut.

Half-cries were wrenched from Sanji's throat now with each thrust. And though in some part of his consciousness he knew fighting only made it worse, his body would not acknowledge this and continued to push back, to reject the invasion. But it was not powerful enough. He was not strong enough. He began to flex and unflex his hands, rocking them back and forth til the skin around his wrists was rubbing raw. He didn't seem to notice.

Fullbody's fingers twitched and tensed at Sanji's throat and he gasped as he came, fingernails digging into Sanji's hip. Finally he slowed, stopped, weight still crushing Sanji and fingers still on his throat as he caught his breath. Pulling out, he ignored the blood as he tucked himself back in his pants and stood to unhitch Sanji's wrists. A pack of cigarettes was tossed, landing beside Sanji's head. "Clean yourself up before the next rounds," Fullbody warned coldly and added over his shoulder, "Anyone hears about this and your secret's out."

Sanji didn't speak as Fullbody left the room, didn't open his eyes or attempt to move for a long while. When he did, it was only to turn over, twisting the stained sheets underneath his body and drawing up a thin blanket to cover the torn and bloodied fabric of his pants. He fell into a fit-full sort of sleep a few minutes before the next rounds.

When Sanji woke, it was to the dim light of dawn. There were only the barest of scraping footsteps from the halls, hospital staff changes shifts he imagined, and he slipped from his bed with the blanket still around him. It hurt to stand, even more to walk, but he forced himself to the still empty showers, not acknowledging the nod of the orderly who had only minutes before unlocked the room. He stripped and showered quickly, soaking the dried blood from his thighs and trying to rub away the dark circles under his eyes. Afterward he discarded the bloody pants, tucking them away in the farthest cubbyhole and wearing the towel back to his room where he found a clean set of clothes already laid out at the foot of the bed. He changed and fell back into the mattress, sleep again claiming him within minutes.

 

It was hardly uncommon for Sanji to miss a meal so when he was absent at breakfast, Zoro didn't raise a brow. It wasn't until lunch was drawing close and Sanji hadn't shown himself that Zoro started to grow curious. And after toying with the idea for a good ten minutes, he finally abandoned his post at the windowsill and made for Sanji's room. He peeked in the window cautiously, eyes falling on the sleeping boy's back. He knocked on the glass.

Sanji wasn't quite asleep by now, but the energy it would have taken to turn over and answer the door was just a bit more than he felt like putting forth. Instead he shifted slightly, pressing his face into the crook of his arm.

Zoro eyed the back of Sanji's head through the window for a moment before opening the door and seating himself on the edge of the bed. "This is what happens when your only form of nutrition is ci..." Zoro trailed off, his eyes falling on the edge of a purple bruise on Sanji's neck. Eyes widening, he caught Sanji's shoulder, forcing him to turn onto his back. Shock washed over the ex-fighter's gaze as it fell on Sanji's bruised cheek and swollen lip, the dark bruises on his throat. Zoro choked on his own voice, "What -- what the fuck happened to you?"

Sanji swallowed, looking at Zoro through barely slit open eyes before closing them again and speaking. "I fell out of bed... onto my face," he muttered clumsily around his split lip.

Zoro bristled -- did Sanji take him for an idiot -- and gave his shoulder the lightest jolt. "Floorboards don't leave fingerprints, asshole," he snarled, leaning over Sanji. "Who did this to you?!" The threat to that person's life went unspoken but carried in his voice. Zoro's eyes were wide, his shoulders rigid as his gaze swept over Sanji's bruised face. Anger surged through him -- he'd kill whoever it was -- Sanji was his only to break, the thought of someone else's hands on his throat made his stomach twist with fury.

Sanji sighed, turned his face to the wall. "No one," he muttered. "Doesn't matter. I shouldn't have gotten caught. My own fault."

"Bullshit," Zoro spat. "This place might be hell but they don't fuck you up like this for sneaking out!" His shoulders rose and fell rapidly now -- his breath was heavy. He took Sanji's jaw in his hand and forced him to look back at him. His eyes were as wild as the day he'd crushed Sanji's wrist in his fingers. "Tell me who it was. I'll turn him inside out."

Sanji shook his head slowly, stubborn. "Can't. He'll go to Smoker. Find out about the keys. Lucky if we ever saw the sky again," he spoke in clipped phrases, tired. Even the fire in Zoro's eyes couldn't inspire more than a twitch in his sore abdomen. "I'm tired," he added.

Zoro's hand closed around a fist full of sheets, his jaw clenching. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again to glare at Sanji petulantly. "I'm not leaving." With that, he slid down to the floor, leaning back against Sanji's bed.

Sanji gave a very small sigh and let his arm drape over the edge of the bed to brush at Zoro's shoulder. "Okay," he murmured. 

Stubborn, Zoro looked away from the soft touch, scowling before turning his head back, letting his cheek brush against Sanji's arm. Just the briefest touch. And then his shoulders hunched, arms propped up on his bent knees. He glared at the door and anyone that might dare to intrude on his rehabilitating rival.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written December 2003

If there was anything Zoro hated the most about the sterile prison he dwelled in it was the horror that was 'group therapy', a practice that he had only recently been inducted into. It was decided that since he'd begun interacting with Sanji, it would be a good idea to join the other man's therapy group which was conveniently run by Zoro's psychiatrist, the pale and beautiful Dr. Hina. The only female doctor on staff, it was public opinion that Hina was either very brave or remarkably stupid for working at the all-male hospital and was well known for her severe attitude. She didn't take shit from her patients. So when Zoro protested to his entry to the hodge-podge group, Hina was not to be argued with and he found himself at the weekly meetings whether he liked it or not. 

The group itself was a bizarre group of misfits -- suave, delusional Sanji, a loud fellow with an eating disorder and a severe megalomania complex, a mild-mannered arsonist and a quiet and stoic man who had an odd connection with nature. 

The recent topic of discussion had been anger and managing it. Per usual, Zoro did his best to tune out the annoying chatter, slumped back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. The arsonist -- a boyish but broad-shouldered man with freckles and burn scars on his arms, went by Ace -- was explaining with a smile that he had no problem with anger. Everyone in the hospital already knew it wasn't malice that had led Ace to torch an entire neighborhood or the office building or that city park; it was just his love of the blaze. Hina interrupted him when he started to tangent on the subject. 

Sanji sat in his chair, meditatively touching his fingertips to his lips in the habit of a smoker without his cigarette. This week's subject was only mildly interesting. He wasn't an angry person by nature and he was only half paying attention to the discussion. Instead, he looked around at the faces of his group. The quietest of them was that tattooed guy people called Birdman. Sanji had forgotten his real name, but he remembered some of his story. Guy was a real nut, used to be the second or third highest ranked in a real notorious gang, the Suna. Devoted himself to protecting the daughter of the boss. Always a little weird, convinced he had the soul of a bird, prided himself on being real in touch with nature and all that. Wasn't til the girl was killed in the cross fire of a gang war that he really lost it. Hunted every single member of the rival gang down and avenged her over and over, real natural-like, machine-gunned every last one before he was finally caught with his pale fingers around the gang boss's throat. Came with the authorities real calm after that though, and rarely made so much as a peep in here. Sanji eyed the man and the black marks tattooed around his eyes, the doctor's voice a fuzzy mumble outside his thoughts. 

The doctor moved her focus to Zoro when she failed to coax any information from Ace and he'd begun to go on about the blaze's anger. Apparently she wasn't interested in the mental health of fire so she turned her gaze on the ex-swordsman who avoided her eyes, arms tucked back behind his chair now as he slouched. "What about you, Zoro?" Hina said. "What do you think is a good way to control your anger? Hina control."

Zoro thought fleetingly that if anyone aught to be locked up it should be the good doctor for that damnable speech impediment of hers. He tried to ignore her for a long moment but the doctor's gaze bore into him and finally he ground out, "Avoiding stupid people is a good start." Hina frowned at him. He glared back. "Don't single me out just because I have some violence in my history," he shot at her, growing annoyed. He'd been on edge all week. Even as Sanji's bruises faded, he was unable to get information about the incident from the other man. His knuckles ached for the temple, skin tingled for the blood of whoever had dared to lay his hands on the blond. "At least I have a sense of honor that goes with it. Make *him* talk about anger." Zoro jerked a thumb in the direction of the heavy-set man at the opposite end of the semi-circle.

The object of Zoro's accusation straightened in his chair, or as much as his sizable girth would allow him to and he clacked his teeth together before looking down his nose at the fighter. "Look here," he rumbled. "That's no way to speak to the Emperor of the Drum Kingdom. If you wish to see my righteous anger, do continue to behave so rudely." With this, he began to chew vigorously on the edge of his already damp and worn sleeve. "Doctor," he continued, speaking around the corner of fabric, "When will lunch be served today?"

Beyond the obvious delusions of authority, Sanji wasn't really sure what this guy's whole story was. Wapol had come to the hospital amidst a slew of rumors, each stranger than the last. It was said he would eat anything, even metal and wood and glass. Like one of those sword-swallowers or something. He'd been rich they said (though far from Emperor of a fantasy kingdom), all sorts of servants who didn't ask questions, just brought him whatever he wanted, whether it was tiramisu or tires. Of course, eccentricity wasn't enough to land you in a place like this, so it wasn't long before the stories of who Wapol had killed began circulating. They said he'd developed a taste for flesh, and one night chopped two of his servants into bits and ate them piece by piece. They even said he'd grown so hungry and bored that he'd tried to eat himself. Sanji was skeptical, but he had once, in the showers, seen the huge, strangely shaped, sunken scars on Wapol's normally covered arms, and had to wonder if some of the rumors might not be far from true.

"Soon, Wapol, we have about ten minutes yet," Hina responded and sighed at her clip-board. Zoro guessed this must be her most frustrating group -- nothing ever came from their meetings except some occasional bickering. More than once, the security just outside the door had come in to break up fights, usually between Zoro and Wapol. Zoro found the meetings remarkably pointless. Therapy for people who had been more or less *sentenced* to their stay was nothing but patronizing. Nobody in this group would be returning to the real world any time soon, attempted readjustment was pointless and stupid.

"More like emperor of the mess hall," Zoro muttered under his breath, sneering as he looked askance at some point on the wall.

Sanji shot Zoro a glare as Wapol stood, fuming. Stupid moron, Sanji thought, always has to pick a fight. He sighed, too late now and looked back to Wapol who was shaking a damp fist at Zoro. 

"Listen you, you barbarian," he protested. "That sort of attitude is likely to get you a lashing!" But instead of continuing to advance on Zoro, Wapol turned to Hina, plump cheeks red with anger. "This is your doing! You have brainwashed my servants against me! You witch!" 

Hina looked back at him, nonplussed. "Sit down, please, Wapol. It frustrates you when people talk down to you, doesn't it...?"

Zoro tuned out the doctor as she talked to Wapol, trying to convince the deluded man that Zoro wasn't his servant and rehashed more of the 'living in reality' talk. The ex-swordsman's eye was caught by Sanji's annoyed look and he shot a scowl back and mouthed 'he started it'.

The tattooed one stood then and placed a thin hand on Wapol's shoulder. He didn't say anything, but the larger man allowed himself to be led back to his seat. "Thank you, my man," he nodded to the pale figure. "You are my only friend." If Wapol mistook the other's silence for loyalty, for servitude, at least it had the effect of calming his anger. Meanwhile Sanji had responded to Zoro's indignance with a voicelessly mouthed 'solitary'. 

Hina nodded with approval, pale blond hair swaying. "Forming friendships and having someone to talk to -- other than Hina -- about things is a good way to combat your anger," she said and offered a thin smile to the pale, thin man as he seated himself. Her eyes then turned slowly to Sanji. "What about you, Sanji? Do you have any way you control your anger?"

Sanji, who had been exchanging scowls with Zoro, snapped his head around at the question. He flashed a smile at the attractive doctor and spread his hands out in front of him innocently. "Me? I don't get angry. Buuuut... if I do, your orderlies are certainly trained to deal with it and... calm me down, aren't they?" The bitter sarcasm in Sanji's was apparent, and he reached up to rub absently at the not quite faded bruises on his neck.

Hina frowned, her momentary pleasure at the interaction between her patients shattered. The silence was punctuated by a snore. Ace -- incidentally narcoleptic as well -- had fallen asleep. Hina sighed and flipped back the turned pages on her clip-board, letting her glasses slip from her nose to As the other rose to leave for lunch, Sanji slipped over to the slumped form of the boy not much older than himself, and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking just slightly. "Ace," he urged, "Lunch time, kid." When the boy finally cracked open his eyes, Sanji smiled, patted his shoulder and turned to follow Zoro from the room. 

Zoro growled softly in the back of his throat as he sat down to lunch. "Stupid 'group'," he muttered under his breath, glancing at Sanji. "I wouldn't have been dragged into it if it weren't for you, either."

Sanji stuck the tip of a finger in his grape juice, and sucked the drop away before looking at Zoro. "No one's dragging you," he corrected, voice smooth. "If you'd rather stay in your room and sulk..." Sanji shrugged and turned to the terrifying little bowl of what they claimed was chocolate pudding. 

"Yeah, says you because you go willingly," Zoro shot back and took an angry bite of some unidentifiable pasta. "If Hina had her way and I didn't go, they'd strap me to a chair in that room and make me talk to that asshole Wapol for hours. About happy bunnies and duckies controlling my fucking anger."

Sanji couldn't help the snicker that slipped from his lips. "You'd better be careful," he waggled his finger dramatically. "Wapol is liable to try to eat you in your sleep!" He grinned as he scooped a spoonful of brown into his mouth, almost managing not to gag. His eyes smiled at Zoro over the napkin he quickly held to his mouth. Even crappy food couldn't ruin his mood today. 

"Hn." Zoro glowered at his meal. "He must be perfectly happy here, that one. All the random crap you can eat." To accent the remark, a wad of pasta splatted as it fell from his fork back to the plate. He let the fork fall to his plate. He wasn't hungry today and looking up, the faint bruises on Sanji's neck and cheek mocked him. Fleetingly the desire came to mind to tear into the other man at that very moment, fight him to the death, rip him apart so that no one else would ever have the chance to. Instead, he ground his teeth and pushed his food around on his plate.

Sanji blinked and swayed backwards just slightly, wondering at the wave of... something... he felt from the other man. He pushed his tray forward and folded his arms, laying his head on them and looked up at Zoro's tense face. "Why are you angry today, Zoro?" he asked.

"I'm not angry," Zoro replied, his voice low. He glanced down at Sanji and quickly back at his food. "I -- I want to go work out," he finally muttered. He needed some sort of ache in his body, something to distract him from this. He pushed his tray away and stood.

Sanji blinked but let the other man go, taking his time picking at the food on his tray for a good five minutes before he finally stood and threw away the remnants of lunch. He wandered to the door that led to the activity yard and stood there for a moment, watching Zoro sweat himself to distraction.

Zoro was doing crunches, his eyes closed, moving more rapidly than he normally would. He hadn't bothered with a shirt today and dust clung to his damp back with each curl. He pushed himself with each crunch, maddeningly weary of these menial exercises that never gave the results he wanted without weights. It was never enough -- he could do this every waking hour and it would never be enough.

Sanji shivered slightly, though the day was warm, so he stepped into the sunlight and padded, barefoot, over to stand above Zoro, letting the sun frame him and cast his shadow across the swordsman's face. "Hey," was all he said.

Zoro fell back against the scraggly grass, letting his forearm fall over his eyes. He stayed that way for a long moment before finally replying with, "Hey," quietly. He moved his arm to look up at Sanji and his sun-brightened edges. After another long moment he sat up, his back to Sanji and placed his arms on his knees, closed his eyes. "Sometimes it feels good just to be out here, under the same sun as everybody else. Sometimes I can pretend I'm not here."

Sanji dropped to a squat at Zoro's back, letting the sun spark highlights in his scruffy hair. He reached out and brushed the dust off of Zoro's back and his tattoo, then found his fingers tracing the swirls of wave and the zigzag of scales. "It really is beautiful you know."

Zoro glanced over his shoulder, hesitated just slightly. "I only did it to see if I could." But turning his gaze back to the front, he added quietly, almost inaudibly. Stubbornly, "I'm glad you like it."

Sanji blinked, then smiled to himself and slipped both arms around Zoro's shoulders in a quick squeeze and a pressing of cheek to neck. Then his lips were at Zoro's ear and he murmured, "I want to see you again." Of course he meant a midnight visit to the showers, to share a cigarette, maybe a word or two. Maybe a touch. He relaxed his hold and made to stand. It wouldn't do to let the staff see too much interaction between them. 

 

It was that night, late, when the shadows were at their deepest and the hospital at its most silent that Zoro quietly made his way through the halls. It hadn't been since Sanji's mysterious bruises had appeared that they'd sneaked away together to the cold, stark tile of the shower room. Not since they'd shared breath, since he'd felt Sanji's life surge through his lungs. Zoro refused to admit even to himself that perhaps that was part of why he'd been so on edge lately. He would never think that perhaps Sanji's presence eased his mind a bit even as he burned to snuff it out. He would never acknowledge how he was preoccupied with the idea of the other man's mouth, how he ached for another touch as much as he ached for the blond's blood. 

With all this fighting for dominance of his thoughts, Zoro instead tried to focus on his surroundings, keeping his ear keen for any sign of movement in the dark hallways. With a final quick glance up and down the hall as he arrived at Sanji's door and reached for the knob. Perfectly silent, the door opened and he slipped in but froze in his tracks in the doorway, his blood running cold as his gaze fell on Sanji's bed.

Scarred hands gripping golden hair, pressing Sanji's face into the pillow, all but suffocating him. Scarred face twisted in pleasure. Fingernails digging into slender, pale hips as he tore through Sanji's most delicate flesh. And most of all blood, dark and striking on the white-pale skin of Sanji's thighs, Sanji's blood, the blood that belonged only to Zoro. 

His muscles shook as life rushed through him, trembling for just the briefest moment, his fingers curling into impossibly tight fists. And then he was on him.

Zoro surged forward, his hand closing on Fullbody's collar and tore him away. There was a crash as his weight hit the wall hard -- blood trickled down his face and from his nose when he turned to Zoro, shock, horror painting his scarred face but ready to fight back. Zoro gave him no opportunity however, lunging forward to smash the back of Fullbody's head against the wall when his hands slammed down around the orderly's neck. 

Wild eyes stared straight into Fullbody's, into his body, lusting for his blood -- Zoro was shaking as his hands tightened around Fullbody's neck, closing on him, cutting of his breath just as he'd taken Sanji's breath. Squeezing until the flesh purpled beneath his fingers just as the bruises had appeared on Sanji's throat, bruises never meant to be made by any filthy orderly's hands. Flesh he had never been allowed to touch. Fullbody gagged, his face growing dark, flushed as he clawed at Zoro's wrists and then at his own pants -- And Zoro intercepted a swinging hand that weilded the elixer that always knocked him out at times like these. Not this time, not now. 

The syringe flew from Fullbody's fingers and shattered on the tile as Zoro caught his wrist and slammed it back against the wall, his thick fingers closing around it. Those wild eyes, burning almost red, narrowed as Zoro turned his gaze back on Fullbody, his other hand still on his throat, shoving him more tightly back against the wall. His fingers tightened on his wrist and Fullbody screamed when one sharp, powerful movement and a loud snap broke his wrist. Felt the other man's pain surge up his fingertips, flare along his arm, surge through him. Letting hatred and power flow back, kill him from the inside, let him know with never a word, no more than his eyes that his retribution would be his life. Hold him there, let him howl with pain, choke for breath, writhe, thrash. Eyes always stealing away his life, the moment seemed to hang forever, where he held in his grasp this heathen's life, squeezed his breath. His blood dripped from his chin and nose onto Zoro's arm and hand. Seared him. Made him rasp and shake with sensation.

And then, that briefest, longest, most delicious moment was over and his hand was gripping Fullbody's hair, arm sweeping, every ounce of his power, all of him surging through his muscles, heightened with the adrenaline that surged through his body, that made everything clearer and sharper until he could smell the other man's blood and sweat and cum. Fullbody's head connected solidly with the corner of the short dresser near Sanji's bed with a loud, sickening crack. Zoro shook. Fullbody's body fell limply, lifelessly to the floor. Blood pooled around him, rich and dark against the cold, stark tile. Blood dripped from the dresser.

It was a good few moments after the hands were torn from his hair and the invasion pulled from his body before Sanji's conscious thought returned enough to turn his face from the suffocating fabric of the pillow. His gaze traveled slowly, wide-eyed, not quite even half-comprehending, from the strangely shadowed floor to the flurry of motion above him. The scream of broken glass --or was it a voice?-- and then the horrible squelching thud that preceded a sudden silence finally shook the focus back to Sanji's vision. But as his eyes found the flash of red he recognized as Zoro's he found he could do nothing but stare, mouth open just slightly, and though it was in that moment that he finally remembered how to breathe again, such concepts as controlled motion and speech were as foreign to him as to a new-born infant. 

So he lay there, breathing shallowly, carefully, watching something --blood-- drip from Zoro's fingertips and set a ring of ripples across the floor to nudge at the still, dark form slumped by the dresser. Sanji's breath caught in his throat and with little warning, the muscles in his abdomen seized and he jerked upright, thumping his bruised shoulders back against the wall. Zoro's name rolled over his tongue but didn't find voice.

Zoro was still shaking, tense, still aside from the tremble as he stared silently down at Fullbody's motionless form. The motion behind him made him whirl around, his breath was quick and heavy, his eyes still sharp with heightened senses as they turned on Sanji. Fullbody's blood dripped down his arm, was spattered across his chest and stomach, staining his clothes. His gaze fell on Sanji, naked, bruised, streaks of blood on his thighs. Zoro's eyes were haunted and hungry and narrowed and for a tortured moment, he ached to tear into the blond, to rip him open and bathe in the blood that he knew would be so much more full of life than the pathetic creature that now dirtied his flesh. He wanted Sanji to kick him back, fight him to the very last second where the katana would tear through him. 

Zoro's face twisted, his fists clenched and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees on the bed before Sanji. He slumped forward then, reaching for Sanji, encircling his shoulders with his arms, pulling the other man so gently against him. And he breathed into golden hair, silent but for those shallow gasps and just held him.

Sanji shook violently as Zoro's touch reminded his flesh to ache. Shaking fingers, bruised wrists rose from the bloody sheets to creep up Zoro's back and clutch at his shoulders. He wanted to cry aloud, to moan Zoro's name, to ask Zoro why he hadn't killed him. Why Sanji was still alive. Instead, he was silent, every place his skin touched Zoro's soaking up the emotion pulsing from every inch of his body. So unbearably strong and he didn't notice the tears that were streaking, smearing the blood spotting his cheeks.

Zoro's arms tightened around Sanji, pressing his face into the other's neck, hands trembling on Sanji's back. Smearing blood on his naked flesh. He didn't even comprehend the rest of the hired help showing up belatedly, stopping short in horror at the pool of blood, the lifeless body that stared up at the ceiling. At the two patients, one naked, the other blood-soaked in each others arms. And for a long moment they stood in shock before approaching, one placing a careful hand on Zoro's shoulder, pulling him away. Zoro tensed but it was as though all his strength had drained from him, he held feebly to Sanji and rasped, eyes tightly shut, "No..."

Sanji echoed the protest with a strangled sob, tightening his hold on Zoro's shoulders, letting himself be dragged forward even as the others tried to pull Zoro from the bed. His eyes darted wildly, his throat grew thick with fear. --No...nonono-- 

Zoro's slick, rough hands grasped at Sanji's back, his face still pressed into Sanji's shoulder, clinging desperately until the orderlies grew tired of the struggle and his fingers fell away limply. Fighting the drugs, Zoro's eyes were apologetic, filled with tortured emotion, fixed on Sanji even as he was dragged away and Sanji was held back. The door clicked heavily shut.

It wasn't until the door closed and Zoro was gone that Sanji finally found his voice and he thrashed in the orderlies' grasp, throwing himself forward, screaming, trying to reach the door. Zoro's name ripped from his throat again and again, desperate, but the hands that grabbed at his slight frame were stronger and there were too many and moments after the needle he never felt entered his flesh, his straining fingers and the door he reached for lost focus. Sanji slumped limp, defeated into thick, cold arms, Zoro's name lodged in his throat but the tears still dripping freely from his nose and lips and chin. 

Zoro didn't come back.

 

It was more than a week before they were able to release Sanji's wrists from the restraints on his bed in the recovery wing but he didn't start eating again when they took the IVs from his arms. And he wouldn't speak to anyone. It was three days before he caught the arm of one of the more seasoned nurses as he passed the doorway of Sanji's room. Without a word, he coaxed the man into his once-again sterilely clean room and closing the door, slid a hand up his side to come to rest on the man's neck. He pressed the nurse between the wall and his own impossibly thin frame. 

With one hand down the man's pants, around his already half-hard cock and the other on his neck, Sanji leaned up to let his dry lips ghost over the soft pink earlobe. He hissed the first words he'd spoken since Zoro had been taken. "Tell me... where." His voice was quiet, cold, strangely strong. And the man in his grip gave a tiny quiver. 

Late that night, a figure emerged from the door of the hospital, in borrowed clothes, with keys that weren't his and a name. An X on the map. As he stepped into dim yellow streetlamp light, a smile touched his lips and he swore he could smell the ocean. A moment later he slipped into the shadows and was gone.


End file.
